


Amidst the Daisies

by isolated



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isolated/pseuds/isolated
Summary: "Really, mate, no worries, these were rather a bit camp, yeah?" Louis said dismissively, tucking his feet closer together, stepping over his own shoes, arms hovering around the boy's shoulders, waiting for him to lift his head.The boy's eyes snapped up, meeting Louis' once more.And the garden in Louis's chest was exposed, the browned weeds and crisped flowers, the singed roots tangling through his ribs, tiny sprouts on his collarbone that had ceased to grow. And to the left, in place of the blooming life that once lived, was a deep, gaping hole with black ashes for soil.And that boy looked at him, like he saw it all, the beauty and ugly of Louis' heart.Or maybe, Louis was far too drunk.-au: louis says things he really shouldn't, used to the city swallowing his words. And harry doesn't really speak at all.





	Amidst the Daisies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chelseafrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseafrew/gifts).



> Hello, honey bunches *:･ﾟ✧
> 
> This little piece ended up being a lot longer than I had planned and a lot more work for my first fanfic, but here we are.
> 
> I've written this fic for chelseafrew from the prompt below. Hopefully, it has met all your expectations~
> 
> Prompt: Harry is disabled in some way (deaf, blind, paralyzed, etc.; either by accident or by birth), but Louis falls for him anyway. Harry is dubious, and Louis has to do some work to convince him he really wants him, but they end up together. It may be worth noting here that I am not a fan of fix-it fic, so if you go this route, keeping Harry disabled is a big plus. Also a plus if One Direction is still a thing, but not a deal breaker.
> 
> I would like to thank my lovely betas; [AJ](https://agoodequaltimeinwellington.tumblr.com/) for being my cheerleader throughout this whole process, sending me memes when I needed it and being my #1 fan. [Jess](http://oopsandhiforever.tumblr.com/) who read this last minute and was super kind and [Neozeka](http://neozeka.tumblr.com/) for being such an amazing beta, doing so much in such little time and giving the best constructive feedback for an amateur writer like myself.
> 
> Note: I've tried to make this story as accurate as possible, but I'm sure there are some slight inaccurate/unrealistic aspects and for that, I apologize.
> 
>  
> 
> **PSA Trigger Warnings: Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic slurs, slight dubious consent, Unhealthy relationships.**
> 
> Message me on tumblr if you would like any further explanation on any of these tags.
> 
>  
> 
> ❀ TheIsolatedlily on Tumblr ❀
> 
>  
> 
>  

 

 

_"The heart is extremely fertile soil. Whatever is planted there, good or bad, will take root and grow"_

 

_- Abdul Nasir Jangda_

 

***

 

A sweet, sickening breeze barged through the window, a foul smog in its wake, the city made its presence by ruining mother nature's reign. The curtains danced, drunkenly flailing, heady of the spring's arrival, the sound too loud for Louis' lonely studio.

 

He was usually still at work right now, stuck at his cubicle, body trapped by the four walls of grey fabric, flickering white lights over his head, phones imperceptibly blared at his desk, the commencing of a dull pounding in his skull, eyes sunken into their sockets, glued to outdated monitors, lunch breaks spent outside, the shushed voices when he came by, the whispers as he turned his head, inhaling all the cigarettes his lungs could take, the laughing, the snickering, the whispers, blight comfortably set into his bones, the insincere comments, nights spent wishing tomorrow would never come, the whispers, the whispers, the whis-

 

He should have been at work right now.

 

But that was over now, nostalgia simply a mask that his being clung to possess.

 

Since he had left, nights and days had begun to overlap, the sun caught up far too quickly with the moon.

 

Days were early, fingers twitching as he looked through job listings, never satisfied with what he found, never moving until the sun finally greeted the sky.

 

And nights were calculating his savings, counting down the number of months he would be able to afford rent, coffee maker working on end. Nights were a certain type of suffocation, intermittently slow, throat clogged with molasses, thick and sticky, pouring heavily, it was sleeping while in the bath, a child playing with a plastic bag; negligent occurrences. The type of suffocating one brought on themselves.

 

The room was messy and chaotic; clothes were thrown, dishes scattered, wrappers dispersed. Louis sat on the floor; right in the center, a flower grown through a cracked concrete.

 

A small box sat in his lap.

 

He had found them, deep in his closet, box squished and dented by the useless miscellaneous items he couldn't bear to have thrown away. The brand new shoes Lottie had gotten him when she had come to visit the city, last year.

 

He would never wear them, had been his first thought when given. He didn't say it, but she knew. His tight-lipped smile and gentle pat on her shoulder had said as much. They gave too much away.

 

He should have been at work right now.

 

His hands had begun to shake, gripping the box in his lap.

 

 

They were an abhorrent yellow, freckled with tiny white daisies. The soles thin with no support, he would feel the sickly dampness of the concrete. The laces were starch white, too clean for the coffee puddles, the polluted rain, and the cigarette tinges. They were a size smaller than what he usually wore, the perpetual discomfort would only serve as an inordinate reminder; these shoes had no place in the city.

 

 

He put them on.

 

***

 

The pub was merrily packed.

 

Most tables were filled with small groups, rowdy amongst themselves, several pints consumed, liquid circles staining the flat surfaces, a heady Saturday night of habitual festivities.

 

The intoxicated crowded the bar, trying to get the overworked bartenders' attention, soused as they shoved money in their faces. The smell of stale beer flooded the area. The floor glistened in the dimmed light, alcohol covering most of it, shoes eliciting an awful ripping noise with every step.

 

 Louis tucked his feet closer together.

 

He stood at the end of the bar in the dimmest area, out of the way, closest to the exit. His arms wrapped around himself, stiff, trying to control the trembling in his hands. His tremulous bones itched, prickling around his chest, his lungs had no room to function, ribs too tight, a body becoming small before eaten alive.

 

It was the first night of his performance, he was on in five minutes. The tequila shot Niall had offered him earlier laid unwelcomed in his stomach, sloshing in his empty belly, threatening to come up to ruin his new shoes.

 

"Lou, you good?" Niall patted his shoulder, a little too hard, sending Louis stumbling forward a bit, almost slipping on a puddle of what he could only assume to be beer. Louis straightened himself before turning to give Niall a glare, unimpressed with his friend's cheerful attitude.

 

It was all Niall's fault. Niall thought he was being a good mate by getting Louis a gig at the pub, singing whatever he liked, every Saturday night. Most would be flattered; Louis was thinking of ten ways he could kill the blond Irishman without getting caught, so far number four was the best option.

 

"Oh, c'mon, Lou, lighten up, you'll be fine," Niall reassured leaning up against the bar, already nursing his fourth- maybe fifth pint. He was eyeing some brunette across the pub and she gave him a quick wink. He smirked in a coquettish manner before making a show of tipping his head back, drink at hand, chugging the last of it.

 

"Niall," Louis clipped as he shook Niall's arm urgently, causing a bit of beer to run down his friend's chin and onto his shirt. Niall pulled away, waving his empty glass heedlessly in the air, already trying to grab the bartender's attention. "Niall, mate, listen, I don't think this is a good idea, c'mon let's just grab El and Z and head over to yours, yeah? You wouldn't have to wait ten minutes for a bloody refill, unlimited stock in your fridge."

 

Niall pulled himself away from the bar to peek back at the brunette.

 

_The sundew plant_ , the sudden anecdote popped into Louis' thoughts, _attracted bugs by producing a sweet sickening nectar from its fronds, that nectar, so it turns out, was a deadly enzyme that broke bugs down into a soup for the sundew plant to later absorb_. The brunette flipped her short hair away from her face, eyes never leaving Niall's.

 

Finally, Niall turned to Louis, giving him a look of forlorn. Louis' arms quickly returned around his abdomen, fingers rehearsing familiar cords on his sides.

 

"Quite tempting, mate, but nah." He pulled Louis into a half hug, still distracted by the brunette, his skin reeking of alcohol, his hand rubbing Louis' shoulders in reassurance, patting his head then ruffling his hair. "S' fine, Lou, I reckon you got some great pipes"

 

The bartender, who finally came to their end of the bar, hardly looked at Niall before he ferociously grabbed him another pint, liquid sloshing over the edge, dripping on the surface of the bar. Niall paid no mind, gulping down his drink.

 

Louis swept his bangs off his face, flattening them out to the side, monotonously, sweat sticky on his forehead, feverishly singing under his breath. The lyrics he's memorized all week were now blank splotches in his mind.

 

El marched through crowded tables, heads turning as she shoved past the intoxicated. Zayn was a silent lynx in the night, unobtrusively trailing behind her.

 

They both reached him and Niall. El blew exasperated breath, a strand of hair from the messy bun on top of her head flailed in her face. She reached over, snatching Niall's drink right out of his hand. Niall made a face, faux anger, and El mimicked it petulantly, downing most of his drink. Niall made a tenuous attempt of salvaging his drink before he eventually turned around, shouting the bartender's name once again. Niall and El were like that, a Lily Pad provided a calm surface for Lilies to bask in the sun, that's just how it worked.

 

"How you doing, love?" El offered the rest of Niall's drink to Louis; he eyed it wearily before grabbing it with both hands, taking a small cautious sip.

 

"How do you think?" Louis said monotonously. El made a sympathetic face, picking a few bobby pins out of her hair and unraveling it, flipping it off to the side, a beguiled beauty.  She reached over, bobby pins still in hand, sweeping Louis' hair off his face, ready to pin his bangs to the side, but he flicked her hand away, taking a whole step back from her reach.

 

_Plants are highly flammable_ , He remembered his mother had told him as a child. _Especially when parched_. He had been intrigued with the occurrence of forest fires. He never understood how they began, who was there to witness the first flame. He later learned that humans were also at fault for the raging fire that burns trees to the ground, leaving piles of black ashes in their wake.

 

She stared at his face while he looked at the strands of hair around hers. El nicked Niall's drink right out of Louis' hands and handed it to Zayn, sanctimoniously. Zayn's brows creased as he watched the two, he made a noise, sucking his teeth in indignation. He, however, did grab the drink El offered, finishing the last of it.

 

"Nialler, move over." El brushed past Louis, taking the empty glass from Zayn's hand and joined Niall at the bar. She leaned forward, chest hovering on the surface of the bar, revealing her cleavage, a cunning smile played on her face. It took only a minute before the bartender, the same as earlier, was pouring their drinks. Niall was shaking his head, eyes rolling in prosperity. However, he held his hand in the air, giving El a high five once the bartender had left.

 

Louis ignored the drink Niall kept trying to place in his hands as he leaned towards Zayn who had already moved closer to his side, ready for Louis' impending breakdown. Niall shrugged indifferently, stopping at the table with the brunette, whispering in her ear, placing a napkin in her hand before following El to a newly vacated table. The brunette smiled triumphantly, Louis rested his head on Zayn's shoulder, looking away as Niall broke down another.

 

Zayn smelled like weed and ink, it was oddly comforting and nostalgic. He remembered the disarray of his and Zayn's apartment, the patches on the walls, rent being too much, cold welcomed in their home, sneaking through ill made windows. A time when the big city was still fresh and new to his bones, the weight not yet cracking the vertebrates, not yet breaking the structure of his being.

 

Louis' hands began to shake once again, feeling as if his skin may peel off its flesh. Zayn gently patted Louis' back, saying the most, but nothing at all.

 

Louis pulled away, feeling the vibrations in his body relax into a low hum. Zayn pulled Louis with him, joining El and Niall at a small table, closest to the stage. Louis became a dead bouquet as if Zayn was woefully dragging him over to an unrequited lover.

 

"Got to hand it to you Ni, didn't quite believe you'd pull this off," he heard El praise suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "On Saturday nights, at that"

 

Niall exaggeratedly shrugged, an apish frown set on his face, as if he didn't look anymore incriminating. Niall always had these mysterious connections; it was probably due to the fact that anyone would give their left kidney to the exuberant lad, just upon greeting.

 

"One of the harpies, then, yeah?" Louis suggested, knowing all too well, hand vining around Zayn's wrist. 

 

Niall simply took a gulp of his drink giving him the same look he gave to El. Zayn let out a small laugh at his side, giving Louis a light squeeze before he removed his preying hand from his wrist and moved to sit right on Niall's lap, the blond simply grumbling for a bit as he let Zayn get comfortable. 

 

Zayn was a quiet, clingy drunk, much to his distaste. The ambiguous lad had always thought of himself as a philosophical drunk, thoughtful and wise, rather than needy and shy.

 

"Your guitar still in Niall's car?" El asked, magically producing Niall's keys, spinning them on her index finger. They had plans to crash at Zayn's once the night was over, he lived a five-minute walk from the bar, however, Louis had heedlessly left his guitar at Niall's the other night, playing his cover over and over again until his fingers had become sore and numb.

 

He didn't answer, or move at all, staying a sudden stasis, letting the leaves settle before they dislodged from the tree. El was already making her way outside.

 

A young boy, about their age, made his way to their group, buzzed cut, eyes soft, but all wrong on his dreary face, tired as the dulled afternoon sun.  He looked familiar, Louis had seen him around the pub either working behind the bar or serving, face always looking far more apathetic than it should.

 

"You're the Louis bloke, right?" He pointed in Louis' direction, an eyebrow raised, knowing very well who he was.

 

"Right." Louis gave him a once over, mirroring the lad's impatience.

 

"You're on in two. Start setting your stuff up, yeah?" he said while already walking away, yelling the rest of the sentence over the mingling voices, opening a small notepad to get ready to take another table's order.

 

"Here." El came back, hands full with his guitar case, shoving it in Louis' awaiting hand.

 

"Don't worry, y'got this, Lou," she said softly, rubbing his back. He let her do it, giving her a tight smile. However, she saw right through it, dropping her hand, brusquely making her way to the other side of the table. Louis scratched his jaw as guilt swarmed in his stomach.

 

Louis opened his case, fingers fumbling with the clips, ears honing in on the familiar click. He grabbed his guitar, put the strap around his shoulders, the instrument bringing him some sort of ease.

 

The mic and stand were already set on stage, and taking another breath, he went up the steps, Niall behind him carrying a stool he must have gotten from the bar, as he set it in front of the stand.

 

The stage lights suddenly came on, bringing a joyful cheer in the pub. Louis could taste the acid on his tongue. He took another breath, ignoring the pressure in his chest.

 

He sat down on the stool, feeling Niall squeeze his knee before he went down to join their friends. Louis scooted up, adjusting the mic before he caught a peek of his shoes. In the stage light, the speckled daisies glowed brighter than stars, blending in a mess of yellow.

 

He heard a loud whistling, knowing very well that it was Niall. Louis tucked his feet under his stool, his left foot on top of the right.

 

"H-How's everyone doin' tonight?" the pub cheered, Louis smiled down to his feet as if to reassure the daisies "uhm, my name is Louis and from this day forward, I'm going to be playing some songs for ya, every Saturday night!" More cheers bounce through the pub "I- I only have one song prepared for you today, unfortunately, kind of a last-minute thing, I'm afraid, but I promise to have more next week…, so, uhm, cheers." The pub cheered once more, Louis mostly heard the howls of his friends at his side.

 

Louis played the first chord, messing up a bit, his fingers fumbling before they seem to remember the song, working on muscle memory. They were a few cheers as some recognized the chords. He cleared his throat and sang, exactly like he rehearsed, voice soft and raspy.

 

_Rise above, gonna start the war!_

_Oh, What you want? What_ you need _? What'd you come here for?_

The crowd started to clap in beat, some even cheering in between his takes. Louis felt a confident smile creep up into his lip, the qualms in his stomach unfurled into something beautiful, a feeling he thought he'd lost. In the soil forgotten by earth, flowers bursts through.

 

_I've got shackles on, my words are tied_

_Fear can make you compromise_

_With the light turned up, It's hard to hide_

_Sometimes I want to disappear._

Louis bloomed, beautifully, petals open to the sky, leaves turned to the sun. His foot began to tap with the beat, excitement spreading into his limbs, an exuberant occurrence. He sang well, better than he rehearsed, hitting all his notes and then some.

 

And once it was done, Louis wanted nothing more than to continue to bask in the sun.

 

The whole pub cheered, most standing up, hands clapping joyfully.

 

He took a bow, eyes tailing his yellow shoes. And a frown became his lips, for petals eventually folded, and most fell to the ground.

 

***

 

Louis' childhood had been filled with noise.

 

The loud shouts through the thin door of his parents' bedroom, the shrieks of his sisters crying before the moonflowers would have time to coil up for the day, the benevolent slurs that were yelled to his face in the schoolyard.

 

It never really stopped until one day, he realized that those moments when he was shunned by the other kids in the schoolyard, pitying himself for being alone was as much quiet as he was going to get. So, he found a place to call his own, far out where the teachers couldn't see, behind a big English oak tree, patches of daisies and dandelions surrounding him, there for him at his loneliest.

 

He had plucked them with alacrity, shoving some into his backpack, carried as many as he could in his hand, returning to the classroom with a bouquet of daisies, white petals still sticking on his shirt.

 

Of course, that hadn't been helpful in the friend department, the boys in class calling him worse slurs than before, shoving him to ground, stomping on the daisies he gathered. 

 

He had begun to read, as a distraction, learning all he could about the different plants that grew around the world, late nights with a flashlight under his sheet as he read about the many trees and flowers that existed. It had been far more productive than crying in the dead of night until his mother came to soothe him to sleep.

 

His mother had bought him his first plant when he was nine, an Aloe Vera cactus he named Low. Low had only lasted two weeks, Louis making the mistake of overwatering him, he had woken up to droopy, lifeless leaves.

 

He had tried again the following summer to start his own garden in his backyard. He had gotten everything right, made sure to water each plant accordingly, pluck the weeds when necessary, saved a whole week's worth allowance on fertilizer soil. The only thing he had missed was the inescapable detail of choosing the appropriate plants for the unpredictability and unpleasantness of UK weather.

 

Eventually, Louis had settled on buying a few flowers every so often, putting them in a beautiful glass vase with fresh water and plant food by his window. He tried his best not to cry when they would eventually wither and be thrown into the compost, treasuring the small moment of joy each flower brought him.

 

The flower shop by his house had become familiar with his visits. He spent most of his time there pestering the workers about every flower they sold, but they were kind enough to enjoy his company, for the most part, even letting him take home a few flowers for free or letting him sit behind the cash register when it got too busy.

 

He had often sung to the orchids that were too stubborn to grow and cried when another batch of roses died before they got sold, simply because they never got to experience the lull of being looked after, given to a lover, feeling wanted.

 

And though all the colorful tulips and vivid hydrangeas had trapped his attention, he always found himself most at peace at his spot next to the English oak tree, far away from the city' ruckus, languidly lying in a bed of daisies.

 

***

 

Louis stumbled to the bar, grabbing another round for his friends, feet weak stems, tangling against themselves. His cheeks were soaked with red, bobby pins placed at the side of his head, keeping his fringe in place.

 

He moved closer to the corner he was at earlier, spotting the tired fella from earlier behind the bar, speaking to a girlish looking lad with curly hair falling at his jaw, Louis cringed.

 

"Oi!" Louis shouted joyfully, the girlish lad jumped up from his chair, looking over at Louis with wide eyes, the tired lad was already turning away, moving to the complete opposite direction of the bar, obviously having heard Louis.

 

"Sorry, mate, tryin' to get a top-up," Louis said, only realizing too late that he had left his drink on his table. He noticed the bartender began to move to another customer, Louis whipped around trying to follow the bartender, knocking a neglected beer over with his elbow.

 

 The boy reached over to move his notebook, the one Louis didn't know was on the bar, protecting it in his arms. The boy grabbed a few napkins at the dispenser, nails painted with black chipped nail polish, fingers covered in gaudy rings.

 

Louis didn't move, watching the beer spill all over the edge of the bar, falling over onto his yellow shoes. And though Louis was in an intoxicated state he was pretty sure the consummation of alcohol killed most flowers, a few humans too.

 

Louis' features fell, watching the beer dampen his toes, seeping through his shoes.

 

Louis heard the scratching of the stool against the floor, and he lifted his gaze. The boy had gotten up from his stool, bowing his head slightly forward as if - _as if to apologize._

 

Louis was enthralled, the boys' eyes held his, a bright green, but the left one, just on the tip of his iris, was slightly dark blue, as if it had been dragged into the water, the green on a globe and the sea of its land.

 

 A few strands of hair framed his face, curling around his jaw, sharp nose to match. The lines on his forehead creased together, morphing to demonstrate worry, eyebrows pulled close, his teeth plunging into his lips.

 

And Louis wanted nothing else. but to take the boy's worries to a place far away from the crowded atmosphere.

 

"It- it's all right, mate, my fault, me being an arse, is all," Louis rushed, slightly distracted by the boy's eyes, words hardly coherent even to his own ears.

 

The boy looked down at Louis' shoes, his frown deepening, and he was shaking his head. Louis wasn't sure if he was shaking his head to Louis' words or himself.

 

"Really, mate, no worries, these were rather a bit camp, yeah?" Louis said dismissively, tucking his feet closer together, stepping over his own shoes, arms hovering around the boy's shoulders, waiting for him to lift his head.

 

The boy's eyes snapped up, meeting Louis' once more.

 

And the garden in Louis's chest was exposed, the browned weeds and crisped flowers, the singed roots tangling through his ribs, tiny sprouts on his collarbone that had ceased to grow. And to the left, in place of the blooming life that once lived, was a deep, gaping hole with black ashes for soil.

That boy looked at him, like he saw it all, the beauty and ugliness of Louis' heart.

 

Or maybe, Louis was far too drunk.

 

"Is he bothering you, Harry?" a voice said to their side, Harry-Louis guessed-turned to meet the voice. The bartender from earlier was giving Louis a disgruntled look.

 

Harry furiously shook his head, ducking his head towards Louis's direction, notebook wrapped tightly in his arms before his long legs quickly moved to the emergency exit by them. Louis wasn't too surprised that the door opened effortlessly, no alarm going off, most of the pubs in the city didn't have a five-star rating when it came their yearly safety check-he was, however, surprised that the bartender simply continued to stare at Louis with distaste, hardly even blinking, paying no mind to the boy who just used the emergency exist as if it was his front door.

 

There was a pause.

 

"Right, well I'll just--" Louis jerked his head to the direction of his table of friends.

 

It's not until he walked back that he noticed he had no drinks in his hands.

 

***

 

Louis returned to their table, put out by the encounter he just had.

 

Luckily for him, the short-haired brunette-who was now on Niall's lap-had managed to gather a few more shots for their table.

 

After a few minutes of heedless laughter and Niall shoving countless drinks down his throat, Louis finally excused himself for a smoke, his friends hardly noticing his absence, laughing too hard at Zayn's impression of an actress he wasn't too familiar with.

 

The warm breeze coated his skin kindly. The stars were sparse on the dark blanket above his head. Louis sighed as he pulled a light and cigarette from his pocket, his lungs delightfully inhaling the smoke, puffing it out into the quiet night.

 

The roads were oddly quiet, this part of town it wasn't too rowdy at night; it's how Zayn managed to get a two-bedroom apartment with decent rent -well, decent rent for the city.

 

Louis leaned against the brick wall, feet close together, watching the street light change in bright colors down the road as he exhaled another cloud of smoke through his nose, already reaching for another cigarette, the one in his hand burning away far too quickly.

 

Louis's eyes caught a familiar figure, sitting on a nearby bench across the road.

 

The streetlights illuminated his curled hair, his knees locked together, feet apart as he hunched over what looked to be a notebook-the one Louis had nearly ruined earlier-writing away. His silver rings glittered under the light. Louis walked closer, wanting to see more of the boy, separated by the small, aged road.

 

His figure was oddly stiff, his shoulders scrunching up, whenever a car went by too quickly or a couple would slow their pace, wander too close, Louis could practically see the boys thick eyebrows gather up together as they did earlier.

 

_The sensitive plant,_ Louis thought watching the boy grow still when car honked at another as they sped by, _known as the humble plant to some, closes its leaves when touched, making them appear dead and lifeless, unappealing from predators._

 

Louis wanted to sooth the boy, release the fear and tension that seemed to have embedded under his skin. Louis sighed, rubbing his eyes furiously, that's enough drinks for tonight, he thought.

 

Louis threw his cigarette bud on the pavement, watching the odd dichotomy of his yellow, daisy covered shoes crushing a toxic entity that most often lead to sickness or death.

 

He rubbed his clammy hands on his black jeans, looking right and left before crossing the road, jogging slightly when the street light ahead changed to green. Once on the other side, he slowed down, trying to force his legs to move into a casual walk. He instead tripped over his own feet, regaining his balance only after he nearly plummeted to the ground.

 

Louis looks up to find that he was much closer to the bench then he anticipated, also much closer to the curly haired boy who stared at him, eyebrows high, pupils wide, mouth set into a thin line. Louis sheepishly waved, hand hardly lifting from his side.

 

"Hi agai--" before Louis even finished the curly haired boy quickly closed his notebook, got up hastily and turned around, walking in the opposite direction. A piece of paper slipped away from his lap and floated to the ground as the boy abruptly stood up.

 

"Wait-" Louis yelled over a rushing car, but the boy didn't look back as he kept walking, quickening his pace until Louis could hardly see him down the road.

 

Louis' neck prickled, and he scratched his jaw with his thumb, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed his humiliation. He looked down at his shoes, scuffing them on the pavement.

 

"Well, okay then," he said under his breath as he made his way to the bench and crouched down to pick up the folded piece of paper off the ground. He smoothed out paper, reading the words once before tucking it into his pocket.

 

Louis made his way back to the pub, walking in just in time to see Zayn tell off the short haired brunette about her drinking, slurring and tripping over his own words. Niall stood aside, completely oblivious to the argument occurring behind him, engrossed and slightly disgusted as El pulls some weird trick with her thumb.

 

It's only when they've made it back to Zayn's apartment-Louis taking up most of the couch as Niall curled up on the lazy boy next to him, El claiming the guest room for herself, the morning glow peeking through the early hours, lighting the apartment with a blue hue- did Louis take the piece of paper out, reading the words, out loud, for the morning sun to hear.

 

_"Voice at dawn, fleshed & bright, drenched in sun, I hope to meet you again, in your eyes, I've sunk."_

 

Louis read them, over and over again until a bar of sunlight peeked through the curtained, covered windows. The heat, warm and comforting, telling him to lay his head, absorbing every word written by the soft-spoken soul.

 

 

 ***

 

Louis awoke with humid fingers, moisture wrinkling the piece of paper he held dear in his hand.

 

El had offered to drive him home after their night of festivities. Niall had snoozed in the back as Louis hardly kept his eyes open in the passenger seat, El had been far too gaiety for someone who had more drinks than he could count.

 

Those few hours of sleep, managed to be just enough for Louis to muster enough energy and willpower to actually pick out a few songs for his performance the following Saturday, the task not as daunting after the positive reception of his first, however, he still felt knots in stomach at the thought of going up there once more, facing a new audience.

 

He had chosen a few songs that suited his voice, picking up his guitar, rehearsing a few chords, however, his focus didn't last long.

 

There were too many gaps, parted minutes, too long to be accurate, where he would stare into space, thoughts pulling him elsewhere, into another realm, where flowers grew in brighter shades of yellow, picked by kinder strangers, a boy with strange eyes turning toward him.

 

He snapped back only to realize that he's been staring at the wall for a few minutes, song forgotten completely. He often found himself reaching for his jacket, slipping a hand into his pocket and pulling the tattered piece of paper, feeling some sort of claim over the words that they weren't his.

 

He strummed his guitar, trying his best to rid his head of images of faux delusions of happiness, hazy and fresh, the unobtainable for a boy like him.

 

 ***

 

Louis eventually did go back to the pub, before his weekly performance on Saturday, though he was ashamed to admit, he had been avoiding it.

 

It was a second home to him and his friends over the years, and he couldn't find it in him to simply walk past it anymore on his usual stroll to Zayn's apartment.

 

The streets were wet, spotted with puddles, the spring showers were no strangers to the big city. The rain was cruel and shameless, spitting over strangers' heads, hiding away when they would look up, only to see it hit another victim a few feet away.

 

After a few days of absences, Louis finally walked to the pub, denim jacket lightly damp, fists in his pocket, the crumpled paper held tightly, scared the world would steal it from him.

 

El had insisted they grab a quick lunch after her shift at work, and she had a hankering for the pub's famous fish and chips. Louis couldn't think of a reason to say no. Though, he usually had plenty when it came to Eleanor.

 

El had always been as stubborn as an orchard, especially when it came to food, once her mind had been set, it was a done deal. Her set ways caused a lot of ruffled feathers between her with Zayn, the two having very different taste when it came to anything, really, hence why Louis left Zayn's apartment without the broody lad himself, who had insisted on ordering Chinese for his lunch.

 

They sat at a booth, a little out of the way, window speckled with beads of water, the pub set in hushed hum.

 

And then the boy came in, soaked pink Converse on his feet, hair homing little droplets, sparkling in the hued light, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes scanning the pub, waving at the tired bartender from the night before.

 

 He took a seat at the edge of the bar, closest the exit, like before.

 

Louis watched as he pulled out his notebook, hidden in his jacket, a pen from his pocket and began to write, no longer a part of this world.

 

Louis tried his best to concentrate on El and her tirade about Niall and the bird he brought home the other night, but his eyes drifted back to the boy who was writing with vehemence and delicate features as droplets dripped from his head onto the wooden bar top. When he worried El might notice, he would add some comment about Niall's bad habits, such as-

 

"Yep, that's Niall for y'a, remember when he introduced us to the girl with the Jello fetish." Which would send El out on another amusing rant of _The Top Five Worst Parts About Living with_ Niall. Louis would smile privately, shifting his eyes to the boy again, watching the tired bartender bring him a glass of water with lemon on the side.

 

Louis almost jumped in his seat when Harry's eyes met his across the room, the name coming back to his recollection. Harry's face was still, no emotion, eyes simply roaming out to the sea, seeing what it had to offer.

 

Louis swore one of his lungs collapsed, a bolder on his chest becoming heavier and heavier with each passing minute. From where he was sitting he could see the blue in Harry's unblinking eye, before he looked back down into his notebook as if he were simply trying to think of a word and his eyes just happened to land on Louis's, a simple coincidence.

 

"H'must be fit," El mumbled reaching over for the bill, hardly looking at him as she pulled out a few twenties, he tried not to let it bother him.

 

"What?" he sipped his lemonade, watching Harry gulp at his water. Louis shifted his eyes to the ice in his own cup, drowning in pale yellow.

 

"You're doin' that whole bit again, you know…. Tryin' to discreetly ogle at a guy you find proper fit." Louis' eyes snapped up to meet El's waiting ones, and there was no venom behind them. But Louis stilled like there was.

 

_Burning Bush_. The words recited in Louis' head, _Earned their name for the leather-like leaves, flowers, and seeds. They had an alluring strong lemon scent which during calm, dry summer nights could easily be ignited into flames._ He could almost see the black font in the book he read as a child.

 

There was a beat. They stared at one another, the rain outside had gotten brave, mad and heavy, sounding like millions of pebbles hitting the pavement, too quick for anyone to re-open their umbrella, but soaking clothes just the same.

 

"Lou, it's fi-"

 

Then Louis jumped out from the booth, sprinting outside, hoping he could catch the last few droplets.

 

 ***

 

El and Louis had broken up six months ago.

 

He remembered for it was the night he slept on the park bench, cold being a comfortable blanket.

 

It had been the first snow of the season when El came home, upset.

 

And Louis, well, Louis had gotten great at predicting the weather, he could tell when it would storm simply by the smell of the air, the thickness of the clouds, the sounds of muddled winds spewing through different directions.

 

However, he hadn't expected a storm that day. He really should have; all the signs were there.

 

El held the leftover cake she had brought from her parents, wrapped tightly in tinfoil, it had been her mother's birthday, Louis hadn't gone, he stopped going to see her parents after the first meeting, he could recall the taste of bile in his throat at the mere thought.

 

She had said nothing, just brushed past him, speckles of snow in her hair, melting instantly once she made it through the door, tear tracks on her face. El had sensitive eyes, always cried when it got too windy, he had turned to the window, watching the cold snowflakes fall peacefully to the ground.

 

She had placed the tinfoil wrapped cake in his fridge, slammed it shut, and that's when Louis had realized where he stood, outside, cloudy skies over his head, wind blowing wild, no shelter for miles ahead. A storm right above his head.

 

It started off tame, a simple question.

 

"Why didn't you show?" she had said lowly.

 

"I got rung up for work." He hadn't. He had, however, volunteered himself to stay a few more extra hours that night.

 

It was the wrong thing to say either way. Louis couldn't recall the exact words that had been said, but they attracted violent gusts of wind and black clouds that painted the once blues skies. Voices had begun to raise, lies spewed from the corner of his mouth.

 

It's when the wind ceased and El's eyes dried, tears leaving a trail on her pink cheeks, did the lightning strike, hard.

 

"You must think I'm daft," El's voice whispered, mocking, electricity right at his feet.

 

His hadn't been capable to use his voice, mouth gaping, tongue dry. He waited for thunder.

 

"A few blokes come strollin' into the pub," there was something so abhorrently cruel in her tone. "Your eyes always lingerin', blush a bit when you're caught--"

 

He looked at her, pleading, the noise was too loud, he needed to run, find shelter, before lighting hit again.

 

She had stared directly into his eyes, jaw tight, ready to strike once more.

 

Louis had turned around, grabbed his shoes and jacket, ran away from the storm.

 

He had run all the way to the park, the night being quiet and dead, his heart pounding hard, kept him from being in the same state.

 

He had lied down, just for a few minutes and had woken up, unable to move his finger and toes, body violently shaking. The sun, having pity, shined her light to save him.

 

He had gotten home to find all of El's stuff gone from their room and a note on the bedside

table.

 

The storm had settled, cracked and singed the tallest trees in its wake. And Louis stood soaked, head to toe.

 

***

 

El had moved in with Niall, temporary at first, but the two had become quick friends, and though Zayn plays it as if he couldn't care less for the long-haired brunette, Louis had noticed how he treated El like one of his own sisters, annoyed and brusque with everything they said, but gentle and patient once they were upset. And he remembered how Zayn reacted when Louis told him about the breakup- _What happened, Lou? El is a gentle one, you know that_.

 

So, Louis had kept his mouth shut, about that night, about the words that were said, letting his friends grow fond of El's presence, letting her plant a seed into their group, bonding even closer than when she was his girlfriend, unable to rid of the abiding decay in chest, slowly spreading through his body.

 

And four months later, when it had finally spread to his lungs and they began to shrink, breathing seeming like a fading recollecting, the act nearly impossible, he quit his job, knowing very well that it was too late and the damaged had been done.

 

***

 

The following Saturday, there were no spiders crawling on his spine.

 

He wore his yellow shoes, figured it had now become a mantra and he hoped to form some positive habits.

 

He performed his set list of three songs and once again the crowd seemed to enjoy his show, a few regulars mentioning that they would bring friends and family to next week's show. Louis hoped the smile on his lips conveyed excitement.

 

Even with the blinding stage lights, Louis still found himself singing toward the exit of the bar, knowing who was watching.

 

El kept giving him these concerned looks when Zayn and Niall weren't watching -well, Zayn was, nothing really got by him. Niall, however, started flirting with one of the birds who congratulated Louis after his performance.

 

Once off stage and with a few beers settled in his stomach, he sought out the boy with the curly hair, hoping he'd still be at the bar.

 

He wasn't.

 

The Tired Bartender wiped down the vacant spot as Louis made what seemed to be a casual walk by the general area, wandering around a bit looking for discarded pieces of paper.  All that stood was a glass of water, dripping on the bar wood, before the Tired Bartender eventually took the glass away, to vacate the area.

 

Louis made a show of shrugging, bangs covering his eyes, El quietly reached over, pinning his hair with a bobby pin, Louis hardly looked up from the floor, admiring the scuff on his yellow shoes.

 

He felt El's eyes on him when they took a seat back at their table, she offered him a sip of her cocktail. He obliged, licking the sweet sugary taste off his lips, letting the nectar coat his throat, because though, there were a few wicked things from El deeply embed in the soil of his chest, she ultimately saw him as a friend and he thinks maybe one day, he'll see her as one of his too.

 

***

 

 

The sun peeked from behind the clouds, rainbow forming too high for Louis to reach, and the rain finally settled. The April showers had found a home in the hectic city, streets stained in darker shades, worms squished on the busy pavements.

 

A gust of spring breeze came into the pub, mixing with the quietness.

 

 The pub was always empty on Monday afternoon, lunch rush done and finished, a few servers still cleaning off their tables.

 

Louis was waiting for his take-out order, Niall and El demanding he brought them three orders of fish and chips to Zayn's that afternoon. There were clicks in his bones and pillows under his eyes, the night before had not been too kind.

 

He stood by the take-out area, near the entrance, letting the light spring breeze swallow him whole as people came and went, the smell of fish and beer, relaxing.

 

Sitting at his usual spot, a line of sunlight set on his sharp features, curls framing his face, was Harry. His eyebrows were scrunched together, left hand writing, manically, not working fast enough for the words stuck in his brain, posture looking uncomfortable for his long limbs, surrounded by the aura of quiet voices and spring's tranquility.

 

Louis tried his best not to stare, focusing instead on his yellow shoes, a few stains starting to accumulate, a result of the city.

 

Without much thought he looked out to Harry once again, finding Harry's eyes on him. They stood there for a few seconds, brows furrowing lightly as a show of recognition before he went back to his task.

 

And Louis decided, all of a sudden, that the flowers in his chest, would be rewarded with a dash of sunlight, he was going to let them grow, blossom into the beauties that they could be.

 

He looked at his feet for a few minutes, contemplating once more, then taking a few steps toward Harry's direction, eyes never leaving the yellow on his shoes, letting them lead the way.

 

He reached Harry, hoping his approach would conjure a reaction. The boy continued to write, a tree unbothered by a gust of wind.

 

"Hi, there." Louis' voice was meek; a smudged against the quiet of the bar.

 

Harry, abruptly stopped writing, placed his pen down, he hurriedly shut his notebook, the spell broken. Louis put up his hands as if to show he meant no harm, hoping the curly haired boy wouldn't run off once again.

 

Harry didn't turn, his body was stiff, eyes raking up the bar, hardly acknowledging Louis' presence. Louis watched Harry's eyes glance toward the exit.  Louis panicked, instantly vomiting words to keep the boy at bay.

 

"Hi-Hello…saw ya outside the other night and…" Louis' voice wasn't his own, odd to his ears, his fingers fidgeted by his side, he stuffed his hands into his coat pocket, trying to locate the piece of paper, but feeling a lonely bobby pin instead from the night before, he pulled it out, running his thumb in between the ridges, indulging in the distracted pressure on his thumb, realizing he didn't have much of a conversation starter without the piece of paper to return.

 

Louis let out a small hiccup as Harry finally graced him with his attention, his cautious eyes examining Louis' twitching hand before they landed on his eyes.

 

A flower unfurled inside Louis, beautifully appearing despite the muck that slugged in his stomach.

 

Then nothing. The boy continued to stare, and the flower inside Louis began to wither.

 

The bobby pin eventually snapped, breaking in two, both pieces falling on the grimy bar floor.

 

"Shit," Louis said, under his breath. The beautiful flower had died, drowned in the bile that threatened to come up his throat.

 

A glass of water was slammed between them, a droplet splashing on Harry' face and the surface of the bar, they both jumped at the intrusion. The Tired Bartender stood behind the bar looking between them both, fingers still on the glass of water, glare set on his face. A long line settled on Harry's lips.

 

There was a beat.

 

"Louis? Order is ready, mate," the bartender snapped. "Gotta ring you through at the till." He nudged his head toward the other end of the bar where the cash register was situated.

 

Louis looked between Harry and the bartender, watching Harry's jaw clench as he glared at the fellow, but the bartender seemed to ignore Harry completely, already making his way to the other side of the bar.

 

Harry aggressively re-opened his notebook once more and began writing furiously.

 

Louis watched him for a bit longer before it was clear that he wasn't going to say anything to him. Louis begrudgingly made his way to the cash register. He looked back at Harry, worried the lad would break his pen with the amount of pressure he seemed to be applying, pen occasionally scratching over words.

 

Louis pulled out his wallet, ready to pay, as the bartender handed him a bag of three Styrofoam containers.

 

"Mate, I don't mean any trouble--"

 

"Leave him be, yeah?"

 

"I- I didn't know." Louis lowered his voice. "I-I didn't know he was your lad, your boyfriend, I mean, I'm not-" Louis stopped, looked down at his shoes, a shameful bile wanting to come up from his throat.

 

The bartender seemed done with the conversation when he said in a clipped tone, "Christ sake, he's not my boyfriend."

 

"Oh," Louis said.

 

"Best mate is all, known each other since we were little." Liam sighed, tired features becoming more noticeable, grabbing the money from Louis' hand. "I've seen you with your lads, on weekends, you lot caused a lot of a ruckus, especially that blond fella. I reckon you're not the type of company Harry needs in his life."

 

"Best friend or mum, mate?" Louis snapped, eyebrows furrowed. "Look, hate to sound like a cliché, uhmm... " Louis paused expectantly,

 

"Liam," the Tired Bartender said begrudgingly.

 

"Liam, I think Harry is a big boy, yeah? Can make his own decisions without his best mate, digging his nose where it isn't needed." Louis sounded harsher than he needed to but he didn't recoil when Liam glowered.

 

"Oh, sod off! Y'don't get it!" Liam snapped back, voice slightly hushed, shaking his head an indignant manner, gripping the side of the cash register. He was leaned closer to Louis, almost in a threatening manner.

 

_Some plants_ , Louis suddenly remembered from one of his many flowering plants' books, _such as Sunflowers, for example, produce toxins called Aspergillus mold that kill or infect plants like corn,_ _peanu--_

 

Louis blinked, snapping out his childhood nostalgia.

 

"Well, care to explain then?" Louis whispered back harshly, taking a step closer until his chest hit the bar, sitting his order on the bar to cross his arms over his chest.

 

"Harry-" Liam paused, eyes looking off to the side, jaw locking a bit. "It's really none of your business, just don't be surprised if he doesn't speak to you."

 

"Not sure what you're getting at," Louis rasped, scoffing in disbelief with Liam's behavior.

 

"Harry doesn't really talk."

 

Louis paused, nodding his head once, not really knowing what Liam meant. Was Harry just shy? Or, like, was he a quiet mysterious type, he'd been friends with Zayn most of his life, that wasn't really an issue. He opened his mouth to ask for an elaboration, but Liam was giving him his iconic glare.

 

Louis grabbed the bag from the surface of the bar and bit his lips, tasting dry flakes. Louis stared down Liam once more, hoping he looked as threatening as he imagined. The words blurted out without permission.

 

"What are you on ab--"

 

"Thirteen cents is your change. Have a wonderful day, mate," Liam cut in, placing the few coins in Louis' hand, adjusting a delicate faux smile on his face as a woman lined up behind Louis.

 

"Look, mate, I mean no harm, alright?" Louis hushed, shifting his tone to something kinder, leaning closer to the bar, watching Liam's eyes grow slightly softer under his gaze before Louis took a step back, turning away to the exit.

 

Later, Louis sat on Zayn's couch with his friends, sloshing around beers as they watched and yelled over at the telly.

 

Louis starred at the beer in his hand, cap still sealed. His mind kept wandering to the subject that didn't concern him, the look Liam gave him, Harry's eyes when they stared at him, the words on the piece of paper that Louis began to hold dear.

 

And he continued to ignore the planted seeds that grew in his inhospitable heart.

 

 

 ***

 

There's a moment after fireworks are shot up to the sky and burst when it's just quiet. There's a  slight ringing heard in the distances, eyes big, lips parted and then as if they aren't able to contain themselves there's another explosion. And that's when you realize you're standing in a field, watching the sky for the wonder that it is.

 

Louis realized when it came to his apartment that pause was a smothering silence. One that dragged on, until he forgot there was anything to look at, the ringing now blended into the walls. As time lapsed by, the barriers grew taller and taller with each day, and more empty spaces appeared out of thin air.

 

The quiet was something he always wanted, except now as he sat up from his bed, neck cracking, head heavy, too much air between his bones, he realized loneliness was the price to pay for peace of mind.

 

He slugged around his apartment, eyelids sluggishly sticking to his eyeballs, unable to shake the tired off his skin, sleep evaded.

 

He made himself a cup of bitter coffee, leaning against the kitchen table, the silence of his studio filling with discomfort.

 

Even with the company of his friends, that fragile stasis never really left. Niall had once described his studio as "quaint"-a word Louis never thought he would hear come out his friend's mouth.

 

There's something too familiar, yet disturbing about his apartment as if it was a necessary experience, a burden he carried for too long, everything about his past sunken into one home.

 

Louis walked to his bedroom area, reaching for his denim jacket, hands searching inside the pockets, feeling for a familiar texture. A panic settled when he emptied both pockets, unable to find what he was looking for.

 

He ran to his hamper, dumping its contents, tossing clothes around, finding the jeans he wore the other night, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth once he found the wrinkled piece of paper. He read the words over and over again, clothes thrown around him, hands shaking just the slightest.

 

And yet after all that there was still nothing but a disconcerting peace in his home. Louis felt so out of place, goosebumps appearing on his flesh, he restrained his fingers from itching at it.

 

He worked on impulse as he looked to the time blaring from his alarm clock before he got dressed, finding a shirt he had borrowed from Zayn a few weeks ago-it still looked and smelled clean. Louis paced at the entrance of his studio, slipping on his shoes, and walking out of the door.

 

It wasn't long before he walked all the way to the café by his place, legs moving fast as if paranoid that the eeriness of his apartment would follow.

 

He cringed the moment he walked into the shop, the smell of strong coffee reminded him of the unhappy, the quiet, the dead weeds on a freshly cut lawn. How things used to be.

 

The store was empty, only opening a few minutes ago, the staff wiping off tables, warming the espresso machine, awaiting the morning rush.

 

Louis ordered himself a chamomile tea, scraping all the change he found in his jacket and hoped that all the caffeine he drank would sit well in his stomach. He grabbed one of the many empty tables by the window, watching the sun peek out, clouds cruel and stopping her light.

 

It wasn't long before the small coffee shop became packed, lines forming, tables being filled, coffee brewing nonstop. Louis watched the men in suits, eyes glazed over, withered and faded as they waited for their drinks. Louis remembered it too well.

 

He watched and watched until he really couldn't bear it anymore. He ordered another tea, adding a few globs of honey at the small station by the door and made his way down the familiar road.

 

Louis decided that, maybe, he should go home, but then he remembered the soundless walls.

 

He was still contemplating what he should do, when an older man brushed past him in a hurry, spilling his tea all over Zayn's shirt, cursing at Louis as he jogged to cross the street light.

 

Louis looked far too long at the tea seeping into Venom's face on the grey shirt, the combo unsettling. He grabbed his phone from his back pocket, hand wet and sticky with tea, checking the time. It was nearly noon. He took a final gulp of the sweet tea before throwing the rest away, turning the opposite direction.

 

He looked to the peeking sun, occasionally shaded by white clouds. It didn't feel like it was going to rain. The stickiness of the honeyed tea seeped through onto his chest.

 

Once at the pub, he caught a glimpse of Liam taking an order for a table in the corner, his eyebrows furrowed, looking like he might have a few words for Louis. Louis raised his hand as if to dismiss him; he wouldn't be too long anyway.

 

The wrinkled piece of paper laid in his hand, in his pocket, drenched with sweat, nails pinching his palm. His eyes searched for familiar curls, finding them hiding to his usual spot.

 

Harry looked like he was making his way back to his seat, wiping his wet, ring-covered hands on his jeans, leaving splotches on the dark fabric. The black nail polish on his fingers was almost completely chipped off.

 

Louis quickly walked toward him, catching him before he took a seat, standing by his stool. Harry paused, noticing Louis approach him, taken aback by the lad's appearance. Louis' neck tingled as he tried his best to hide the huge tea stain on his shirt with his jacket.

 

Louis absorbed the boy's features for a few seconds, stopping when he was right in front of him. Harry's hair was clipped with a purple clip at the top of his head, the rest of his curls at his jaw, a black shirt clinging to his chest, light brown corrodes pants on his long legs, dingy black Converse on his feet.

 

Louis dragged his eyes to meet Harry's once more, realizing that Harry seemed to be waiting on him, eyes shifting so often, shoving his large hands to his back pocket, adding weight to his left leg as he did so.

 

"Wanted to return this to you," Louis blurted a little too loud, a few heads from other tables turning from the intrusion. He ignored them, shoving the piece of paper in Harry's direction.

 

"Fell from your lap, that first night outside when…. yeah? Reckon you might want it back or…"

 

Harry stood for a moment, cautiously taking the piece of paper from Louis, opening it up. Louis hoped it wasn't still damp with his sweat.

 

Harry mouthed the words in a delicate manner, no sound emitting. Louis really couldn't bear such a delicate sight, as if it was something Harry did all the time.

 

Harry opened his mouth, lips moving in an odd manner, eyes wide, almost desperate, not a single sound emerging. Louis took this as a cue that the conversation was now over, turning around ready to leave when he felt a hand grab his, warm meeting cold. Louis quickly turned around to find Harry, reaching for a black marker in his back pocket, hand still securing Louis' own.

 

Louis watched patiently, an eyebrow at his fringe, as Harry grabbed his hand more delicately, adjusting it as he pulled the cap off his marker with his mouth, bringing Louis' hand closer to his face, then looking to Louis as if to ask permission. Louis nodded, unsure what he was agreeing to, but his heart came to a sudden stop when Harry began to write on his palm.

 

There's something superlative and yet cherubic about the act, languid as if he were writing some sort of perennial love letter. And if Louis wasn't paying so much attention to everything that was Harry, he wouldn't have noticed the slight trembling on the boy's bottom lip.

 

Louis tried not to float into another realm at the sudden caprice, keeping his fingers still, paralyzed with each movement Harry's hand made as it cupped Louis', feeling his fingers twitch from disuse. The combination of enthrallment from the black marker on his skin, and his orchid-like heart stretching its petals in his chest put him in a haze of delight that he feared he would grow to love.

 

Once done, he watched Harry gently blow air on his palm. Louis let out a gasp before he could stop himself causing Harry to lift his head in surprise, face going a beet red as he suddenly realized what he had done. He set Louis' hand down, indicating that it was now, once again, his own instead of Harry's own personal canvas.

 

Louis kept staring at Harry, who was watching Louis expectantly, waiting for the shorter lad to look at his own hand. And after a beat-letting himself absorb the awe of the situation, registering what was happening-he did.

 

Harry's handwriting was beautiful, neat and tidy, taking up little space on his palm. The black letters bleeding into the cracks of his skin, clinging, indicative to permanency.

 

_Did Liam tell you?_

 

Louis looked to meet Harry's awaiting eyes.

 

And suddenly it made sense, Liam 's _Harry doesn't really talk_ , the ink still drying on his hand, the reserved look on Harry's face, almost curling into himself. Louis slowly nodded incredulity, the realization dawning on him.

 

"I-" he then stopped when he realized he really didn't know what to say, wasn't familiar with the words that might comfort the boy in front of him.

 

Harry shrugged, shoulders hardly lifting as if he knew all the thoughts that ran through Louis' head, letting the revelation settle.

 

Louis' ribs hurt in such a way, he almost looked down to make sure there wasn't a puncture wound. Suddenly, the tiredness in Louis's limbs that he ignored on his way there, weighed down on his shoulders, feet tingling with the pressure.

 

"I really like them," Louis mumbled heedlessly, realizing Harry probably couldn't hear him or understand the context of his improprieties.

 

"I really like the words you wrote," Louis elaborated, he bit his tongue to stop from simply gushing over Harry's lush words. This unusual gallant behavior was still fresh, made him want to buckle at his knees and flee to a safe haven.

 

Louis stared at the boy in front of him, hoping that his blue eyes showcased any form of earnest emotion, and he thinks that maybe Harry understood-or maybe Louis hoped he did.  

 

Louis made a show of nudging toward the door, ready to leave when Harry held up his finger to stop him once more.

 

Harry turned to his jacket on the empty stool next to his, digging into the pocket before pulling a white rectangular shape, too quick for Louis to grasp a good look.

 

Harry hid the item behind his back for a few seconds, simply looking at Louis as if to decide whether he was worthy of his gift. Louis wanted to say something to reassure the boy with curls, but all he managed was an imperceptible smile, fingers spasming at his side.

 

Harry reached over, capturing Louis' hands with vehemence, placing the mysterious items in Louis' dainty fingers.

 

Louis' mouth gaped. There, in his hand, was a white card with two small bobby pins. On the end of each black, u-shaped pin was white knitted wool that surrounded a small yellow button, resembling two daisies. There were even pages cut out in the shape of leaves along one of the metal pins.

 

Something closed up in Louis' chest, hands gripping the card tightly, finger gone white with red blotches, a swivel emotion came through him, and he wanted to get away, just so Harry couldn't interpret his reaction as negativity for Louis was simply at a loss with what to do with anonymous arcane feeling he felt for a boy he just met.

 

Louis snapped himself out of an insufferable pit he felt himself fall into, watching Harry move his hand in a quick single motion, index finger and thumb on his left hand turning swiftly.

 

Louis turned the white card around to see Harry's writing at the bottom of the card in black bold letters.

 

_To match your shoes._

 

Louis looked up just in time to see Harry give another shrug, this time a small smile on his lips, eyes never leaving Louis'.

 

Louis let himself go back to the days, where he lay in a bed of daisies, young and naïve, ground damp from the morning rain, a cool gust piercing through his clothes to lick his skin, goosebumps covering him, head to toe, the English oak tree keeping him safe.

 

And when he turned to his side, there was a familiar boy with brown locks and fluorescent eyes who mouthed beautiful words, into the sky, whispers stolen by the spring's breeze.

 

***

Louis was sort of Moonstruck.

 

After Harry had given him the set of bobby pins, he averted his eyes, quickly grabbed his stuff from his chair, rushing through the emergency exit before Louis could even process anything, let alone thank the boy for the unexpected gift.

 

Louis looked around him, eyes landing on Liam who had watched the whole interaction, lips slightly parted, skin piled high on his forehead, eyes wide, gawking as if Louis had slain his favorite childhood trees, then mocked Liam as he mourned the stump.

 

No one else seemed to have caught the whole exchange, no mocking smirks, or pointing fingers with gossiping whispers. Louis felt a shameful relief. He quickly put the bobby pins in his pocket and finally exited the bar, Liam returning to his normal self, glaring at Louis as he walked by with a plate of nachos for his table.

 

He caught the bus, eyes hardly staying open, his limbs too heavy to walk back to his flat. His hand never leaving his pocket, fingers tracing the small yellow button.

 

Once home he went straight to the bathroom, shutting the door hard, then sinking to the ground, back against the door, falling to his bum.

 

Louis let out a small breath, biting his lips to stop the large smile from taking over his face. He sprung up, taking the bobby pins out of his pocket.

 

He watched himself in the mirror as he slowly pulled his fringe off to the side, grabbing the two pins, delicately; opening them with his mouth and crossing the two metal pins at his fringe, then taking a step back to examine himself.

 

The circles under his eyes had darkened, the apples of his cheeks were too prominent, his lips were dry, his hair slightly greasy and mangled, with the exception of his fringe that laid nicely at his forehead. It was the first time in months Louis had looked in the mirror and didn't feel ashamed of the person who stared back.

 

He opened the door, suddenly reminded of the hollowness and emptiness of his home, hearing a single drip from the kitchen's tap echoing through the house. The sun was still out filling the studio with a bright hue that nearly blinded him, almost urging him to leave. He pulled out his phone.

 

He texted Zayn. _You home?_

 

_:)_    Was the reply he got.

 

Without much thought, Louis grabbed a duffle bag from his chaotic closet and packed a few clothes and items he thought he would need.

 

The bus to Zayn's was unnerving, he felt frazzled and slightly unhinged, a frantic bee before it settles back to the hive. The blurring figures that rushed by didn't help the anxiety he harbored in his stomach.

 

He made it to Zayn's apartment door, fingers shaking as he rasps a quick knock. Zayn immediately opened the door, face bored, wearing nothing but boxer briefs, a cigarette in his opposite hand. He took one look at Louis's bag over his shoulder and opened the door wider, moving aside.

 

Louis smiled, reaching over to give Zayn a quick hug then walking through the apartment, dumping his bag by the couch in the living room before he slumped down on it. The telly was playing an odd animated show he wasn't familiar with, the soft voice of each character in a foreign language, filling the room.

 

Zayn sighed.

 

"Lou, I have a guest room, mate," Zayn exasperated, throwing himself on the couch next to Louis, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the small table to his side.

 

"I'm well aware, Z," Louis said, making himself comfortable as he untied his shoes and crossed his legs on the couch trying to read the English subtitles that appeared on the screen.

 

"Much better on ya back, can hardly take a kip on this thing," Zayn continued. Louis ignored his friend, feeling Zayn stare at him. He made a show of stretching his arms over his head as he let out a yawn, exasperatingly, suppressing himself from snapping at his friend.

 

"That's my shirt and I ain't gonna hear the end of it, if you keep usin' El' hairpins without givin' em back," Zayn said in a cool manner, getting up to walk to the kitchen.

 

Louis's stomach dropped, and he quickly ran a hand through his fringe, feeling the small knitted button, soft and fragile, removing his hand carefully as if not to ruin the style.

 

Zayn came back with a few blankets and a mug of tea he handed to Louis.

 

"I'd reckon it looks better on ya," Zayn said with a smirk on his face, Louis sipped his tea, chamomile and sickly sweet, he sloshed the liquid in his mouth before he swallowed it. He shoved Zayn with his foot as he reclaimed his seat on the couch, laughing loudly when the younger lad let out a loud squawk.

 

***

 

 

Louis stood outside the pub, breathing in the last few drags of his cigarette, one puff to ensure the nicotine coated his insides, another puff to ensure he didn't live past sixty.

 

He threw the bud on the ground with the rest, wrapping his arms around himself, thick sweater heating his skin as his jean shorts clung to his thighs adding to his discomfort. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled over his head, causing a few bystanders to give him odd looks as the sun glared her way through the day. He quickly patted his blotchy cheeks and damp chin, longing for the light breeze that had ceased since this morning, leaving the city, bright and dry, and its citizens scorched and bitter.

 

It was one of the very few hot days of the season, or, if he was being honest, the year.

 

Louis pulled his phone out, eyeing a few strangers who rushed about before opening the camera app, bringing it up to his face, discreetly, taking a look at himself.  He adjusted the single, daisied bobby pin, garishly styled on his brown fringe.

 

His eyes flitted to the pub, where he could see a familiar mess of curls, sat down at his usual spot, back facing the glass wall.

 

Louis looked down to the pavement. He wriggled his feet in his usual shoes, feeling as though his toes might have somehow webbed together from the sticky heat.  There was a small sprout that grew through the divided pavement. He languidly leaned his body over to shade it from the sun, noticing the tips of the leaves turning a light brown.

 

He remembered, as a child, he would stop at every sprout he found, crouching down wherever he was, hoping he could catch it grow, eager to see what it would become. He later realized that most sprouts became weeds. And no one particularly liked weeds as much as they liked roses or lilies, they were just nuisances to be killed.

 

He looked back up to watch Harry once more. The boy, to no one's surprise, hadn't moved.

 

Louis moved forward, after what felt like hours, careful of the sprouts at his feet. He puffed his cheeks and let out an exasperated breath, walking up to the door and pulling open, a rush of embarrassment set in his gut when he remembered it was required to be pushed instead.

 

He made a show of looking around for a seat, though the pub was mostly empty at that time of the day. He hesitantly walked to the bar, a few feet away from Harry.

 

He counted to ten before he turned his head to look over to Harry who was still enthralled with his writing, not even noticing Louis' entrance. Louis tested the waters, sitting two seats away from the curly haired boy before a gallant feeling jolted through him, moving closer, leaving one stool between them. Harry had yet to lift his head from his notebook.

 

The sunlight was a slanted rectangle on Harry' features and Louis wondered if somehow the sun loved Harry as much as it did sunflowers. His nose and chin were slightly tucked into himself as his right hand and freshly colored red nails pulled and tugged at his lips, making them a deeper coral pink mixed with shades of light. His brows furrowed in concentration, and his ringlets effortlessly fell from his forehead, rich and glossy as he tucked them behind his ear.

 

A familiar barmaid approached him, interrupting his gawking, offering him a menu and asking if he would like something to drink to which Louis shook his head. He feared his voice would break Harry out of his enthrallment, causing him to turn and notice Louis. And Louis' frisson made him unprepared to deal with Harry's eyes on him just yet.

 

Louis let his fingers fidget on the surface of the bar, making sure not to turn in Harry's direction, keeping his body facing forward, making a show of looking along the wall filled with various liquors.

 

Louis watched Harry through his peripheral vision, trying to rehearse a few lines in his head, lips mouthing along. As he did so, a rush of air hit his throat roughly, forcing him to cough. He realized too late the ruckus he caused, turning just in time to see Harry's head snap up, startled by the intrusion.

 

There was a pause and then Harry recognized Louis, eyes widening, looking around as he wondered how Louis suddenly appeared next to him. He smiled with friendliness, eyes shifting down, colored nails squeezing his lips with more force, before he placed them down by his notebook, both hands gripping his pen. His eyes wandered to Louis' forehead, an amusing frown appeared on his face, shaking his head slightly, biting his lips to stop a smile Louis desperately wanted to see.

 

Louis suddenly remembered why he came to the pub this morning, blurting out a mess of words, wanting to keep Harry's attention now that it was his.

 

"Wanted to say thank you for the pins," Louis said, pointing to the little hair accessory on his fringe. "I didn't get to yesterday, was a bit stunned by the gesture." 

 

Harry's smile widened, only for a few seconds before bowing his head, looking at his lap with intent, torn as if he wanted to turn away, but couldn't. His brows pulled closer together as he stared down at his notebook, body slightly leaning toward Louis and feet planted forward on the floor, he didn't, however, continue writing.

 

Louis repressed a long sigh, pulling his elbow on the bar surface, leaning his face into his hand. He waved down the barmaid and ordered his usual of fish and chips as he slumped in his seat.

 

He tried not to stare at Harry as he chatted pleasantly with the barmaid who recognized him from his Saturday performances, but he couldn't help it. Harry still hadn't really moved, he played with the pen in his hand, eyes cast away as if he was in deep thought. Whenever Louis would turn to his direction to include him in the conversation, he simply pulled further away, coiling more into himself.

 

Louis didn't really know what he was expecting, it was obvious that Harry's gift had been simply an act of kindness and strictly that. He probably felt bad for the pathetic lad who broke his bobby pin while awkwardly trying to strike a conversation with him. Eventually the barmaid left catering to a few lads who arrived for drinks, leaving an awkward pause between the two boys.

 

Louis harshly shook his head, almost laughing at himself, covering his face with his hand, gripping his hair, careful of the pin at his fringe. He pulled his face away from his hands, leaning back to take a sip of his lemonade.

 

He casually looked over to his side and was surprised to see Harry finally staring at him, a small, red bitten, smile on his face.

 

"What?" Louis asked, his own grin showing in his features, but he couldn't help it, there was something so contagious about Harry's smile and Louis wanted to grasp the fanciful feeling.

 

Harry looked apprehensive, looking at his notes then back at Louis, seeming to make up it his mind, he shut his notebook, putting it aside, pulled a black marker from his pocket and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser within his reach.

 

Louis sat patiently.

 

A rush ran through him similar to fresh water quickly streaming past unassailable, bulky rocks.

 

Once finished, Harry folded the napkin in two, his cheek slightly tinted with red as he reached over the short distances, passing it to Louis.

 

Louis took another peek at Harry, his teeth sinking down into his lips, eyes shifting away almost instantly upon Louis' gaze before Louis unfolded the napkin.

 

_It looks really pretty on you._

 

Louis blinked once, then twice, then he felt the back of his neck itch. He had never been called pretty before, especially by _another guy_. He wondered if his expression was telling when he looked back to Harry.

 

And Harry was already watching him with a look of intrigue interest and something else Louis couldn't read. Harry freed his lips from his canines, leaving them wet and raw.

 

"I- Thank you." There was a pause, then Harry smiled, only for him, looking down at his fingers, scraping the nail polish of his nails.

 

Harry grabbed another napkin, writing quicker this time, and Louis reached out for it once he was finished.

 

_My sister told me that the girl I bought these for must be really pretty :)_

 

Something dropped in Louis' stomach, he looked down at his scuffed, yellow, shoes, odd stains on the surface, the white daisies now a light brown. He tucked his hands into his sweater, looking at Harry after an awkward pause only to see the lad 's lips curled in an impish manner, eyes riddled with amusement.

 

"Are you tryin' to be funny, mate?" Louis said with mirth in his tone, the nauseated feeling in his stomach settling down.

 

Harry rejoiced, nodding his head eagerly, smile vehement and bright, cheeks full and red, childlike. Louis laughed, endeared by the boy with the twinkling eyes.

 

"Well, curly, tell your sister, I lack most parts, yeah? But I'm slightly flattered," Louis teased, watching Harry's smile grow wide, teeth showing slightly before he covered it with his large hand.

 

Harry reached for another napkin, smile never leaving his face as he scribbled words in a rush.

 

_My name is Harry._

 

"I know," Louis blurted out too quickly, he avoided Harry's eyes, feeling the familiar itch in his neck, scratching it with the back of his thumb. Harry stared at him, hand pulling on his bottom lip, surprise on his features. "Nevertheless, it's nice to meet you, Harry."

 

Louis looked at the seat between them and signaled to it.

 

"Do you mind?" Louis asked, making sure not to stand, assuring he did not appear too eager. Harry seemed even more surprised by the question, his eyes widened to a comical size before nodding his head quickly. Louis moved over, pulling a hand between them.

 

"I'm Louis, glad for the official introduction."

 

Harry blinked a few times as if he couldn't really believe the situation in front of him. He shook Louis' hand after a bit of hesitation. Harry's hand swallowed Louis' almost completely, abrasive and warm, his shoulder slumped as he shook it with a sort of ease.

 

Once they pulled away, Harry reached for another napkin, however, already missing the warmth at his fingers, Louis offered his hand, instead.

 

Harry stared at him for a second, Louis's eyes drowned in the land and water that was Harry. Louis shrugged his shoulder, trying to seem indifferent about the situation though he swore the noise from his heartbreaking his ribs echoed through the whole pub.

 

"It's not like you haven't before, mate," Louis said, in a cheeky tone. Harry let another smile erupt on his lips, teeth showing and all.

 

Harry pulled Louis' hand in his, delicately. Louis bit on the flesh of lips to stop from making any weird sounds, and planted his feet on the bar stool, pulling them close together so he wouldn't squirm.

 

Harry wrote fast and quick. Louis knew the words would still be neat and tidy on his palm, despite the fact. He filled Louis' palm completely with his small, tucked penmanship.

 

_It's nice to officially meet you, Louis, I also knew your name from your Saturday shows._

 

"You've seen me, then?" Louis declared meekly, jaw slacked, eyes fixated on Harry's. It was one thing for Louis to have his suspicions, it was a completely different thing to have the truth, smacked in his face.

 

For an extended second, Harry's face remained steady, eyes still as they stared back at Louis. He placed an elbow on the bar, leaning his face into his knuckles, He nodded in a slow and languid motion, blinking almost uncoordinatedly. It was as if Louis had asked a tired office worker if they needed a cup of coffee-an obvious answer taking their current state, however, they had somehow deluded themselves into thinking they could go the whole day without being caffeinated, the face of a man who admitted defeat after lying to themselves.

 

"I-I don't--I don't usually see you." Louis didn't mean to make it sound like an accusation, but it's how it came out. He then realized what he just divulged, letting the noxious slush settle through him.

 

Harry looked down at his lap, and for a second, Louis feared the boy would leave, weirded out by the boy in front of him. Harry, instead, reached for a napkin. His lips were tight, right hand still in his lap, as he wrote with his left, eyes hardly looking to the napkin, shifting aimlessly, flickering with his thoughts, disconnected with the words his hand created.

 

He turned to Louis, sliding the napkin in his direction. Louis caught it before Harry could fully remove his finger from the sheet, their skin touching briefly, causing Harry to quickly pull away, placing his hand into his lap, clasping his fingers and ankles together.

 

_I have trouble with large crowds, but after hearing your first performance, I've been trying to bear it….just to hear you sing._

 

"I'm glad, I've given you a reason to stay," Louis said softly, scratching his jaw with his thumb, looking to the side before taking a look at the curled black letters on the napkin.

 

Louis was so distracted by Harry' words, he hardly noticed Harry writing another note, until he leaned over. Harry left the napkin between them instead of sliding it completely to his side, his hand returning to the safekeeping of his lap.

 

_Your voice is quite amazing… I hope you make it big._

 

"Nah, I've sort of given up on that sort of thing, just your local bar singer now," Louis dismissed, quickly, trying to keep the smile on his face from tightening. Harry didn't need to know of his dreams, they didn't matter anymore. "But, thanks, mate! Maybe, I'll catch one of your books on the bestseller list!"

 

Harry went still, nodding slightly, eyes not meeting his, looking almost through Louis. His pupils glazed over, the lines at his lips slouched, the bags under his eyes seeming more apparent than before. Harry suddenly appeared to be a man too old to be young, stories hidden away beneath his eyes. The red-cheeked boy vanishing before him.

 

"Did I say something-?" Louis asked, leaning forward, though, it only made Harry stiffen up even more. Without hesitation, Harry reached over for Louis' hand, his right hand this time. Louis let himself become malleable, plucked as if he was a single red rose.

 

_All the words, I write, I wish to someday speak to the world._

 

"I hope you do, Harry," Louis said earnestly, holding Harry's eyes for as long as he could.

 

They were interrupted when a plate of steaming fish and chips was placed in front of Louis. The barmaid looked between the two boys with mischievous features.

 

"Two plates then?" the barmaid asked, already handing Louis two small plates as well as two sets of cutlery.

 

Louis looked over to Harry, who was already looking at him.

 

"Care to join me?" Louis asked, fingers twitching as he offered a plate to Harry. When Harry looked down to his fingernails, scratching away at the nail polish on his finger, Louis quickly added, "Already had a big lunch earlier, mate, ain't gonna finish it all on me own."

 

Louis hadn't eaten all day, but he wanted the boy with the beautiful eyes to stay by his side, feed the little sprouts in his chest, uncaring if they turned out to be a cluster of weeds.

 

Harry smiled, lifting his shoulder to shrug.

 

"Why do I feel like that's a signature move of yours, curly?" Louis said, placing the hot plate of food between them. To prove some sort of point, Harry smirked and shrugged again.

 

And Louis he had always loved those sprouts between the pavement, no matter what they turned out to be.

 

***

 

The flower shop down his street, as a child, had been called, Bloom's Flower shop-a name he found was quite un-original and hadn't ceased to pester the staff about it.

 

He would run straight from school to the shop, the moment the bell had rung, releasing the kids from their eagers seats. The shop had been evidentially tiny, hardly getting customers, except for the loyal regulars. It was a small staff of four, all enamored with Louis and his curiosity about all the things that grew within the walls of the store.

 

Marylyn, the manager-a woman in her early thirties, who dropped out of college, had a dark purple pixie cut, always smelled like lavender and ate clementines like it was her calling-had been his favorite amongst them. At first, she would glare at him, urging him to buy something or go home-This ain't a daycare, kid, and I'm not getting paid to watch you. -but over time she had grown to love Louis.

 

Marylyn, despite coming from wealth, was a kind and humble being, who worked for every penny she earned. She began teaching Louis everything and anything he knew about botanical studies and the magic that most plants carried, sneaking Holly or Rosemary into his bag when he came to the shop with wicked bruises on his elbows and knees, always brewing chamomile tea because - _This shit weather is robbing me of all my sunshine!_

 

His favorite thing about Marylyn, though he will admit he once found odd, was her quirky habit of singing to plants, especially orchids, who according to her could -Read your intentions, before you can, psychic abilities, as they say, expressing it either through pendant silence or blooming beauty. Louis had watched her water moth orchids while singing All You Need is Love, and though he couldn't prove it, he swore they had bloomed right in front of his eyes. Soon Louis had found himself doing the same to all the plants in the shop, making Marylyn smile privately before she would toss him a clementine she had started to peel.

 

Around the time Louis had turned fourteen, Marylyn had begun letting him ring up the regulars at the cash register. She hadn't been able to officially hire him, but she did start giving him a few pounds a week when no one was looking, winking as she slipped the money into his pocket.

 

Around that time, he had also discovered that Marylyn was engaged to a woman. Marylyn had been an extremely private person, only opening to a few in the shop, headstrong, hadn't wanted to bother anybody with her personal troubles, the same went for boisterous information as well.

 

A woman with long blond hair in a long colorful skirt came by the shop, asking for Marylyn with a smile so bright, and a euphonious voice. Louis had returned the smiled without hesitation, running to the back to grab Marylyn, pulling her by the wrist. And if Louis had thought that the stranger's smile was cheerful, it was nothing compared to the brilliant smile Marylyn gave her back, letting out a laugh before pecking her on the lips.

 

Louis had hidden behind the cash register, too shy the interrupt the interaction, eyes wide and curious, trying to decipher the imperceptible mystery.

 

Once she left, Louis bombarded Marylyn with millions of questions. It was something so foreign to him, not understanding how it was so okay. Marylyn had sat him down and told in soft voice- _It's okay because it's love and that's all there is to it._

 

Though the concept of love was still a perplexing concept, it had been impossible to stop the inexorable tears that came running down his eyes.

 

That day, Louis had told Marylyn about the boys at school, why he had always come to the shop with fresh bruises on his skin. Marylyn had comforted him and told him that those people didn't matter, they were simply ignorant, she told him the magical tale of when she had lived in London, how she met her fiancée, the scintillating life of living in the big city.

 

Louis ate up all her words up, going home and telling his mum he was going to move to London and sing. His mother's eye had shinned with pathos, bursting with things he was too naïve to understand, nodding along as he babbled on everlasting possibilities.

 

Now looking back, he wished his mother had told him that when the world falls on its axis and the sky begins to fall, those trees you've gripped, held onto for dear life, get pulled from the soil and drag you along.

 

 

***

 

Sitting next to Harry became a regular, peaceful affair.

 

Louis would join Harry at the pub, usually right after a lunch rush, when it was the quietest. He would often dawdle before he took a seat next to Harry, unsure if sitting next to the boy would be too intrusive. That would always lead to Harry staring patiently at him, waiting for Louis next move before nudging his head to the stool beside him, head shaking in disbelief, most likely thinking Louis was being utterly ridiculous about a simple seat.

 

The two boys would idly share a plate of fish and chips, scrunched up napkins surrounding them, Louis's hands covered in black letters and smudged smiley faces, fingers always warm.

 

Harry would write to him about miscellaneous things, like his favorite food during the winter-his mother's fruit cake-and during the summer-avocado toast-both choices causing Louis to cringe while Harry cackled at his side.

 

Harry would also show him all the strange things he kept in his satchel: four different pens, two markers, a copy of a Mary Oliver book, a bookmark covered in smiley face stickers-the typical yellow ones-two coasters shaped like frogs, discarded coins he never put into his bright red wallet, and two dried up bottles of black nail polish, that should have been thrown out years ago but hadn't because they were Harry's favorite nail polish shades and were now-due to the fact that the colours were discontinued-impossible to buy.

 

There were so many crevasses and thin alleys that formed Harry, so many odd tunnels that Louis found himself lost with every turn. Like how Harry owned a pair of Converse in every color, each pair looking as if they were on their last leg, scuffed and tattered, beyond repair. Or how he hates tartar sauce, won't eat anything on his plate if it even touches his food.

 

Sometimes, Louis would just keep Harry company, let the boy write away in silence as Louis tried his best to busy himself. Eventually, Harry would stop writing, toss his notebook back into his bag, just to entertain Louis. And Louis found it so endearing that he would smile until his eyes crinkled together.

 

This afternoon was no different, the pub was nice and cool, the air conditioner on full blast, most tables empty and cleaned as it was later in the afternoon. The waiters stood around aimlessly chatting with one another, waiting for the dinner rush that would commence in a few hours. Harry and Louis had just finished their usual plate of fish and chips, Harry excusing himself to the bathroom once they finished, leaving his notebook on the table with his satchel. 

 

Liam had come by a few minutes earlier, smile gone still once he spotted Louis right beside Harry, hating the new development of Harry&Louis.  Most days, Louis would be lucky, coming by the pub, coincidentally, when Liam had been off work. Liam tried his best to keep his sour expression off his face as he cleared their plates and grabbed their drink orders, most likely, most definitely for Harry's sake.

 

The moment Harry left, Liam made his way back with a glass of water and lemonade, shoving both glasses on the bar, causing Louis's lemonade to bump against Harry' notebook making it fall, wide open, face down, pages kissing the floor. Louis looked up to glare at Liam, letting out a petulant groan when he realized that the disgruntled bartender was already across the bar pouring drinks for another customer.

 

Louis swore under his breath before he picked up the notebook from the gross floor and sighed in relief when it appeared to be intact, nothing falling out. He flipped it over, inspecting it, searching for any weird stains on the page, his eyes giving the page a quick scan, pausing as he read a few of the jumbled words crammed on the pages.

 

I _was never meant to lay with the gifted, ones who belted out symphonies in the night, the ones who brought stars to life._

_A voice as a weapon when he sang, I pictured bullets lodged in my gut._

 

Louis slammed the notebook shut, looking around, checking to see if anyone had witnessed him being pulled into a world that wasn't his.

 

He gently placed the notebook back to where it was, eyes watching the door of the bathroom across the bar. He set his hand on his lap, fingers digging into his knees.

 

Harry came back a few minutes later, hands still slightly wet as he dried on them his jeans. Louis waited for Harry to take a seat, make himself comfortable before he blurted:

 

"Harry-tell me if I'm, like, overstepping, yeah? but until you're able to--, I was wondering if I could, like, read your words, sorta, like, sing em." Louis, his felt his cheeks tinged with pink and his neck itch "Like, if you properly, wrote me a song, I mean."

 

Harry turned to him, fingers playing with the straw in his water. He mixed the ice around, his eyes blinking slowly as he stared at Louis, eyes still, small wrinkles forming between them. Louis hated that look as if he knew Louis had just peeked into his notebook, could see right through him. Louis swallowed hard, feeling his tongue too big for his mouth.

 

Harry pulled out his marker from his bag, pulling off the cap and sitting it on the bar, then held his hand out and waited. Louis lingered for a moment before he lifted his hand and placed it in Harry's, slightly, moist ones, palm facing up. Harry wrote slower than Louis expected as if he was going over every single letter, putting emphasis on each symbol.

 

Harry pulled back and looked at Louis, eyes unnerving yet hidden away, the dichotomy of Harry himself.

 

Louis looked at his palm reading the big and bolded letters.

 

_Why?_

 

Louis looked at Harry, the boy with the odd eyes.  Louis always thought of Harry as trapped, and though, maybe, he had no right to assume, it's how he saw a boy who couldn't physically speak.  But now, it felt as if he got a glimpse of Harry's reality and Louis realized he had been wrong.

 

"Because something tells me there are stories in that curly-haired head of yours." Louis, leaning his elbow on the bar, face pressed to his hand, body completely facing Harry's.

 

Much to Louis's disappointment, Harry didn't reach for his hands once more, he instead grabbed a napkin from the dispenser.

 

Louis watched the hair tucked behind Harry's ear come loose as he hunched over to write on the napkin, his mouth slightly opened, eyelids relaxed and half closed, his tongue absently going to his lips, licking the cracked skin.

 

Louis was severed from his serene observation when Harry turned to him, an eyebrow raised, eyes scanning Louis' face, fingers pushing the napkin towards him.

 

Louis looked down at the napkin, reading over the words, heart sliced into two even pieces.

 

_I wouldn't know where to start_

 

Louis reads the words once and then again, not understanding the blazing, inflamed feeling that erupted in his chest.

 

"I could help, like, we could do it together, dream team, yeah?"

 

He watches Harry grab another napkin, the boy writing quickly on the thinned bleached wood before passing to Louis, eyes hardly leaving his face.

 

_What if nobody likes it?_

 

Louis shook his head, eyes wide, his arms wrapping themselves around his own waist as if he felt Harry's anxiety reach over to him.

 

"S'not possible," Louis almost whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. Harry leaned closer, mouth opened as if he needed to speak, eyes filled with strange flickers of emotions Louis couldn't understand, nor did he think he was ready to. "We won't let that happen."

 

Harry pulled away then, his fingers playing on his lips, tugging harshly, looking off to something behind the bar, eyes shifting.

 

Louis, without thinking, reached over, removing Harry's fingers away from his mouth, holding them in his own.

 

There was an extended minute where Harry was still, not removing his fingers from Louis, eyes wide before his shoulders slumped. He slowly removed his fingers from Louis', reaching for his notebook, pushing it between them.

 

Harry stared at him, far too long for comfort, but Louis simply waited, trying not to look away. He wondered how they looked to bystanders and customers in the pub.

 

Louis leaned back slightly, blinking a few times. Harry gave him a smile almost like some sort of reassurance which made Louis want to cry and giggle all at once.

 

Harry pulled his notebook open, searching a few pages before stopping at the page he was looking for. He stared at Louis, contemplating, a look familiar to Louis. When Harry made up his mind he opened his mouth and for a second, Louis thought he might actually speak, but then he closed it and simply passing his tattered notebook to Louis' hands.

 

And once again Louis was sucked into the world created by Harry. His words were tiny leaves and florescent-colored flowers, blooming before a seasonal fruit grew in its place, ripened and ready for the world to see, long and stretched, curled and crooked, as they reached high up for the sun' glory.

 

Minutes merge to hours as Louis and Harry stayed at the pub, the sun barely able to stay awake in the orange and blue sky. Louis' voice was hushed as he read Harry's words back to him Harry leaned on the surface of the bar, eyes closed, fully absorbed in the atmospheric tone Louis' voice brought to his words.

 

Harry would select a page and Louis would read it out loud, quietly just for the two of them, Harry wouldn't really explain the story behind the words, letting them speak for themselves. Louis would lodge a few words into his ribs and hoped his memory would not be fickle, wanting to preserve as much as possible. Louis would suggest a few phrases he thought might fit as lyrics, and Harry would either agreed by reaching for his notebook to write a few notes, or simply shake his head, Louis would never push, just give a quick nod, handing the notebook back to its owner so he could pick out new pages for him to read.

 

Liam occasionally brought them refills while coming to check on them. Liam's face was evident with surprises when he spotted Louis holding Harry's notebook. And apparently, that's all it took for his unpleasant behavior towards Louis to cease, filling his cup with lemonade as he batted Louis's cash away, looking to Louis with unspoken gratitude. There was a mutual understanding that this kindness was brought by Harry.

 

The boys started packing up their things once the night rush began, pulling away from the safe bubble they created. They walked into together outside, greeting the cold breeze of spring, stilling at the entrance of the pub. Harry was the first to turn to Louis, lifting his hand to give a small wave, Louis replicated the action.

 

Harry walked backward, smile wide on his face before he turned away from Louis. Louis stayed watching Harry's back become smaller and smaller the distance between them growing further.

 

Only when he could no longer spot the curly-haired boy did he finally turn and make his way back to Zayn's, letting his feet walk the familiar path, eyes too focused on the smudged ink on his hands.

 

 

 ***

 

 

A few days Later, Louis sat up, woken too early.

 

The sun was still drowsy, sky blanketed in shades of blue and hues of oranges. The olive couch was lumpy and hard, the light sheet over his body was too heavy for the stuffiness of Zayn's living room. Louis felt the moisture gather under his arm as he ran his fingers over the smudged ink on his left hand. The room was dimmed and still, windows shut tight, the owls still up, everything not yet in its place.

 

He showered before the sun could judge him, greeting the pounding cold water on his shoulders, before the crickets silenced for the day.

 

Zayn didn't say anything when Louis came into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, walking right past his untouched duffle bag on Zayn's bedroom floor and raided his friends closet for clean clothes instead Zayn simply grunted something about it being too early and rolled to the other side of the bed, head in between his folded pillow, covering his ears.

 

Louis brewed chamomile tea, fingers left sticky with honey before he left Zayn's apartment.

 

He walked until he caught sight of the familiar green sign of the pub, seeing a familiar figure coming from the opposite direction.

 

Harry took long strides as a heavyweight pressed on his shoulders, eyes scattering as if his mind made up dangerous pictures, staying a safe distance from every rushed bystander. There always seemed to be vines wrapped around Harry' feet, some sort of lifeline, gripping at his ankles, ready to yank him back to safety at any given second.

 

Harry slowed his pace as he noticed Louis, looking around him once before a small smile gracing his face as if he needed permission to do so.

 

Harry's hands came to his own chin, fingers moving a quick motion, then back down to his chest. It took a moment for Louis to realize that it was sign language.

 

"Oh Sorry, I-" Louis jogged toward Harry. Harry, out of instinct, backed away before, stopping himself, planting his feet to stay in place. The boys stood right outside of the quiet pub "Sorry I don't -I don't know how to sign, like, I don't know sign language, I'm afraid," Louis babbled.

 

Harry simply lifted his shoulders, eyes rolling, twisted lips, almost half of a smile, a smirk, really. And, perhaps, Louis, realized, Harry had already assumed that information. Louis' eyebrows furrowed in confusion, felt as if he had missed the punchline to a joke of some sort, but teeth bit into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, nevertheless.

 

Harry simply shook his head, throwing his head back slightly, eyes off to the side, wide smile. It's something he did often, his version of never mind.

 

Louis watched him pull out a marker from his back pocket, noticing the soil that coated Harry's hands, dirt spotted under a few of his chipped, red polished nails. Harry held up his marker, his eyebrows rising along with it, other hand reaching for Louis'.

 

Louis nodded quickly, already understanding the situation.

 

Harry grabbed his hand in his, calloused and filthy, but gentle and nice. Louis couldn't breathe, he knew his hand was still oddly sticky with sugary tea.

 

Louis watched Harry notice his own handwriting, slightly smudged, still intact on Louis' hand. Harry's eyebrows pulled together, his nose scrunched up, sniffing a bit, pressing his lips into an odd pout, an expression Louis had come to understand as endearment.

 

Harry flipped Louis' hand over, palm against palm, writing on the back of his hand instead, right under the vertical muscles of his index finger, next to Louis' thumb. He blew on the ink like he usually did, often when he thought Louis wasn't paying attention. Louis suppressed a violent shiver, making his legs twitch oddly.

 

Louis squirmed a bit, neck feeling red. He wondered how he looked to Harry, with sticky hands, hair unkempt, still slightly wet, tattered jacket, jeans rolled up at his ankles, unknown rips from unmemorable circumstances, yellow daisies shoes on his feet.

 

Harry looked amazing, his hair was kept in a dark headscarf, a few curls peeking in odd directions, most clinging to his jaw and face. He wore a thin black and white flannel, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the wrist, over a black t-shirt, his pants were slim around his legs, brown satchel over his shoulders, dark, laced up boots, covered in dirt and scuffed.

 

Louis waited a few seconds once Harry settled his hand back to his side. Harry smiled as if he expected it from Louis. When Louis finally brought his hand up, inspecting the curly haired boy's words, the first thing he noticed was the few smudges of dirt on his hand, proof that Harry had, in fact, held his hand only a few moments ago, and it wasn't a hallucination or a nebulous daydream.

 

_A little early for fish and chips, don't you think?_

 

Louis made an odd noise not knowing what to say, where to begin, he could feel his ears burning, following with the itchiness of his neck.

 

He looked at Harry who held his arms behind his back, a goofy grin back on his face. Louis didn't really know where to begin with the boy in front of him. He felt like maybe it would have been appropriate to shake his head, make up some excuse as to why he was at the pub at nine AM on a Wednesday, but some part of him wanted Harry to know that he was the exact person he wanted to see when his eyes had adjusted to the darkness in Zayn's living room that morning.

 

So, he shrugged, lifting his shoulders casually, an impish look on his face.

 

 ***

 

Things became easier.

 

The nights weren't as restless as they used to be, and the sun in the morning was less a sign of lost hours, but more a reminder of the new ones to come.

 

He started his day walking to a café, killing time before he met with Harry in the afternoons.

 

Though a few weeks had gone by, Louis was still unsure of what Harry did for a living, if he even worked, or was an unemployed bloke living with his best friend, like Louis himself. He suspected that wasn't the case, for Harry seemed busy most mornings, coming by the pub-after the busy lunch rushes-with chipped, dirtied fingernails. He took his usual seat at the pub, often frowning at his scuffed boots that he sometimes wore instead of Converse as if he had forgotten to change out of them. Louis had tried asking him, but Harry would just shrug. The closest he got to an answer was when he had written a simple,

 

_I'll take you someday :)_

 

Louis had begun relentlessly interrogating Liam-who was stubborn as a bull, giving El a run for her money when Harry had one day given him a bag of freshly cooked sunflower seeds, and Liam had said something along the lines of-Cooked these ones yourself, this time?

 

The curiosity drove Louis mad.

 

The rest of the day would depend on Harry's mood.

 

Some days Harry would be quite a convivialist upon his arrival, greeting Louis with an ill-written joke, that didn't make Louis' neck itchy and pink, eating his lunch-courtesy of Liam-until there were only a few crumbs on his plate, showing Louis the new words he wrote for his song. Those were good days, and they were becoming quite frequent the more Louis got to know Harry.

 

However, some days everything would distract Harry; the rattling of glass bottles, the beeping of the dishwasher, the customers that walked too close. It was impossible for him to focus on Louis' words. So, Louis would let him pull out his notebook and retreat into his own world for a while, tucking into himself as he wrote, blocking Louis out.

 

On days like those, they would just sit next to one another, absorbing the other's silences. Louis had started bringing a book in case of those days, for he had developed a terrible habit of blatantly staring at Harry for hours on end, without the curly haired lad really noticing.

 

Liam would often make a show of clearing his throat as he walked by, leading Harry to lift his head from his notebook, startled, confusion on his features. Louis would glare at Liam, his neck prickling, hot and itchy.

 

Sometimes, Harry would mention Louis' performances, recommending a few songs he thought would suit Louis' voice. Nine times out of ten, Louis would sing the song Harry suggested because he loved the way Harry's eyes would light up when he agreed and because Harry actually had good taste in music.

 

And come Saturday, a stage light bright on his face, Louis would smile to the corner of the bar where he could almost see a familiar figure smiling back. Although, when the rush would settle, and Louis would jump off the stage, almost running to their usual spot, he would find the seat empty and a small regretful smile from Liam as he cleared Harry's glass of water.

 

El would often be there to pat his back, a frown set on her face as she bought Louis another round of a cocktail he could never pronounce.

 

His friends had all started to notice his absence in their afternoon rendezvous, much to his dismay.

 

Niall had just assumed he was seeing somebody and made casual comments about how they should double date, to which Louis would decline and mention for the tenth time that he was still single.

 

It didn't fly over Louis' head how Niall always seemed to use non-gender specific pronouns when describing Louis' apparent lover. This only caused Louis to become more irritated with the blond lad and to wonder how much Niall actually assumed about him, which only led Louis back into a dark place that he often crawled into.

 

El and Zayn, were perhaps, the worst, because although the two got into the most fights in the foursome, however, they actually had common eccentricities, especially when it came to their astute observations.  El would ask these casual questions like- _Are going to see that fit bloke from the pub?_ -and- _Have you asked lover boy out yet?_

 

Zayn was much subtler, giving him these odd, knowing looks every time he would leave for the pub around noon.

 

He ignored them both.

 

Louis didn't like talking about Harry to anyone, he didn't even like thinking about the curly haired boy so frequently. He felt as though the universe would know, how his fingers shook as he walked over to see Harry, anticipation blooming like a red rose in his chest that was often stuffed into pages of a heavy book. Or how he thinks he could burst into ashes in the moments whenever his eyes landed on Harry's.

 

Therefore, he tried his best to keep his mouth shut when it came to Harry. Not ready to hear how those thoughts sounded out loud, or if it meant something. Louis prayed it didn't.

 

It was after an especially rowdy Saturday night out at the pub-he had decided to do an Arctic Monkey tribute night, singing all their popular songs and some of his favorites, the crowd singing Mardy Bum over of Louis's voice, cheerful and loud.

 

He had stopped expecting to see Harry after his performance knowing the disappointment seemed to hurt more the more he expected it.

 

Louis was on his first shot of the night, Niall had a red-haired girl at his hip, making his way back to their table with three shots. El was already hammered at his side, ranting far too loud to Zayn about some rude customer who came into the shop the other day, and Louis knew that Zayn was just as far gone as she was. Instead of rolling his eyes-as he often did when she got like this-he was rubbing her shoulder, looking just as angry, making some comment about how El didn't deserve this treatment and how she should just come work at the comic book store with him, all which was true and most likely genuine. However, Zayn would deny ever saying such things, if brought up when sober. Alcohol brought out a sensible side to Zayn, like a Moon Flower, blooming only at night, closing during the day, lasting through the night, remaining like so until it was hit with morning sun.

 

Liam appeared at his side, pulling him aside as Niall reached their table yelling something incoherent to Louis's ears. Liam slipped a piece of paper in his palm.

 

"It's from Harry…gave it to me before he left," Liam said, and somehow Louis thought that Liam added that last bit simply for Louis' benefit. Not that he really doubted that Harry came to his shows, it was just nice to hear some confirmation that it wasn't all in his head.

 

Liam walked away before Louis could even murmur thanks, _typical._

 

He looked over his shoulder, making sure his friends were still distracted among themselves before he straightened the piece of paper. Harry's handwriting took up no space on the white paper.

 

_Meet me here at 7 am tomorrow._

 

And at the bottom were a few numbers squished together. It took a while for Louis to realize that it was Harry's phone number.  He felt an urge to shout at the moon, the clinquant stars, smiling down at him.

 

He quickly added the number to his phone, adding a daisy next to Harry's name. He wrote a quick text, reading it over a few times.

 

_Hey, it's Louis, got ur message, see u tomorrow :)_

 

Louis wasn't really expecting a reply so quick. He figured that Harry was sleeping, but his phone vibrated back almost instantly.

 

_See you when the sun wakes :)_

 

Louis grinned, then quickly pocketed his phone. He made some excuse to his friends about having a stomach ache, that they were all too drunk to protest, before he grabbed the set of keys from Zayn's pocket, practically running back to the apartment. He showered quickly and tried his best not to dream of vibrant daisies, white petals and smudged black ink, a chimerical sight that brought him peace.

 

 

***

 

Louis spotted Harry leaning against the pub, the sun slowly climbing up to the sky on a dull Sunday morning.

 

Harry's features were bright and soft, but the bags under his eyes were bigger than usual and his hair was damp by his jaw. He turned to Louis, expectantly. And Louis stopped, a few feet from him, just to breathe.

 

Harry smiled, teeth out flashing, before he nudged his head towards the opposite direction, and began walking away. Louis startled a bit, made himself move into a light jog in order to catch up.

 

They walked side by side, Harry paying no mind to him, continuing on his path. Louis couldn't help but look over to the curly haired lad, taking him in. He wore his usual black jeans and unzipped, black hoodie over a plain white t-shirt. His hands were empty-no notebook or satchel-stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, black, clunky boots dragging on the pavement.

 

They walked behind some elementary school with a huge grassy area, Louis was unfamiliar with the area of the city. They continued until they reached a gapped fence, followed by a dirt path.

 

After what seemed to be a few minutes he looked back and could hardly see the school, gone through the trees. Harry was still moving forward, hardly glancing at the other lad, he was a fast walker. Louis found himself stumbling on a few rocks as Harry moved through with no hiccups, feet knowing the path well.

 

Louis was about to cave and ask where they were headed when he saw a small glass house in view. There was a fence, that Harry easily unlocked. Soon, they found themselves in the huge yard, a big, pretty glass house in the center. Behind it was a quaint house, and Louis could see a few houses further away.

 

 

They made their way on a red and beige bricked path, that lead them right in front of the greenhouse. Louis' eyes widened as Harry kept walking towards the glass house.

 

"Harry, mate, I think we might be on private property," Louis whispered to the green-eyed lad who simply turned to him with a bemused expression before pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the door.

 

The moment they stepped into the humid air, Louis regretted wearing a long sleeve sweater with his denim jacket.

 

The smell of soil and roses breached his nose, pulling him back to his younger days. Large bushes of lavender, viburnum, bright roses, sat in large pots, fluorescent in different shades. A few small pots of cactuses and other tiny plants were gathered together on wooden ledges aligned in a neat row under slightly opened windows. Spider plants stretched down from the ceiling alongside vineyards of unripe strawberries that to the two beams above their heads.  Hydrangeas and moonflowers were draped like silk curtains on walls of the glass house, their leaves long enough to lie flat on the red brick floor. Stone figures sat nicely all around the room, mocking gargoyles in all shapes and sizes, gardening gnomes in odd poses. Trowels and pink gloves lay next to discarded opened bags of soils in the corner next to a small filthy, rusted, sink, dripping water into a blue watering can, water overflowing down its sides. And next to it, was a single pot of blooming daisies.

 

There was a red door on the other side of the house, being held open by a small potted pine tree. A loud grunt came from a woman carrying a big bag of soil, dumping in a small pile by the door. She mumbled something under breath before turning around, straightening her back, sweat coated her red blouse. She fully turned around, nearly jumping a few feet in the air.

 

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said, putting a hand on her chest. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail, a few strands peeking out by her damp forehead, curling along her ears. Her eyes were a bright green, her nose was long, slightly curling at the tip and when she smiled, Louis knew that she was somehow related to Harry.

 

"Harry, what did I tell you about sneakin' up on me?" she scolded. She looked as if she was about to say more when she noticed Louis standing there. Her expression automatically changed to something graceful and kind.

 

"Oh, who might we have here? Might this be the reason we're running late for work this morning?" she said, Cheshire accent thick, smirking while turning her head toward Harry with a knowing look. "Is this him then?" she asked, grabbing a towel from a shelf by the door, wiping her hands, and coming to shake Louis'.

 

Louis automatically took her hand, shaking it cautiously, and looked over to Harry whose head was down. Louis could see his cheeks were slightly pink; he felt at a loss with the whole situation. The woman laughed at Louis' expression.

 

"I'm Anne, Harry's mother, and you must be Louis, correct?" she asked, seeming to already know the answer. Louis' eyes widened, and he straightened his posture, not knowing what to do.

 

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am," Louis rushed out while stuffing his hand into his pocket.

 

"Anne is just fine, darling," she said lightly, smile still gracing her lips.

 

Harry lifted his head and looked between the two of them with a shy smile on his face.

 

She put her hands on her hips, looking between the two boys with a knowing smile.

 

"Well, I'm a little disappointed, Harry hasn't written to you about me, clearly," she said with an amused tone. Louis looked at Harry who was rolling his eyes. Louis laughed; he'd never seen Harry so at ease. "Harry, why would you bring this poor lad with you for an early shift like this, poor thing looks exhausted," Anne said disapprovingly.

 

"It's really fine, m-Anne, I've been tormenting Harold about where he's been working for quite some time now." Louis said, coming quickly to Harry's rescue, smiling proudly as he nudged Harry with an elbow. Harry chuckled slightly, head down, knocking Louis' elbow away with his own.

 

"Hope, you're ready to get your hands dirty, since Harold"-Anne's smile was far too wide, and Louis felt his neck itch- "has a lot of work to do this morning, thank God he has such a kind mother that has been covering for him all morning,'" Anne said, hardly keeping the amusement out of her tone.

 

Louis smiled, taking his hands out of his pocket and rubbing them together.

 

"Of course!" Louis exclaimed, genuinely excited. Anne gave him a strange look, eyebrows raising to her hairline before she let out a loud laugh.

 

"I'm simply teasing, love, I wouldn't put a guest to work," she said, batting her hand in a dismissive manner. Louis deflated slightly.

 

"I really don't mind, I used to own a little garden in my backyard during the summer in Doncaster! I will say, that most of my plants did die, but I blame the weather more than my own negligence," Louis said, thoughtfully remembering the day he cried when his sunflowers wouldn't bloom.

 

Anne laughed, shaking her head as she turned to Harry.

 

"I like him," she said, smiling to Louis once more, who blossomed right there, almost jumping to his toes, face brightening up completely.

 

"Alright, boys I'll leave you to it. You're in good hands, Louis. Harry will teach you all the ropes. I'll be back in forty-five minutes with snacks!" she said, gently moving the pine tree away from the red door. Harry quickly sprung into action, moving to help her, and batting her hands away as he lifted the pot easily. His mother watched him, a pleased smile on her face. Once Harry had safely tucked the pine tree away, Anne waved to both boys and shut the door behind her.

 

There was a pause and then:

 

"So, this is the infamous workplace then?" Louis said, twirling around, arms wide, taking a better look around. Harry pulled out his satchel, hidden, under one of the many wooden tables, taking out a flyer and handed it to Louis. It was an advert for a small plant shop downtown.

 

"Serenity, Plants, and Apothecary. Is this like a family-owned business of some sort?" Louis asked. He had gone to the shop often as it was one of El's favorites while they were dating, always quite busy the last he remembered.

 

He looked to see Harry holding his phone, typing, and then felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Louis looked at Harry, mouth slacked, shaking his head a bit, already regretting the lad having his number.

 

It's my mom's shop, she just pays me to tend the greenhouse.

 

Louis smiled, picturing Anne and Harry tending to the plants, attentively watering them, making sure they got enough sun. Louis wondered if, maybe, Harry spoke to plants when no one was around, like when Louis had "worked" at his local plant store.

 

"Alright then, teach me your ways!" Louis exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Harry shook his head. "Oh come on now. Let me help out a bit, yeah?"

 

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.

 

Harry searched the room, satisfied when he found three medium-sized, green pots, and Louis watched as he filled them with soil, one by one. Harry grabbed the watering can from the sink and set it on the tables next to the pots, splashing water on the ground as he did so. Harry ducked down, reaching for a bag. Then, he gently placed the contents on the table as well. They looked like stems, but Louis leaned closer and realized they were rose cuttings, recognizing the prickled flesh, Harry ran around the room a bit more before he found a bottle that said Rooting Powder in big, bold letters. Harry placed it on the table, looking up to Louis, and grabbed his phone, sending a quick text.

 

_You can help by watching :P_

 

Louis pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, but nevertheless, he watched Harry proceed to do what Louis assumes is propagating roses by using rooted cuttings. He had remembered Marylyn doing something very similar, except she had used old mason jars.

 

Harry was oddly more delicate with the process than he remembered Marylyn being, grabbing each cutting delicately, mixing the soil in the pot, adding a bit of water and a small handful of the soil from the pile Anne left, hands mixing, slowly and precisely. He checked each of the cuttings, making sure they were cut properly before dipping them in the powder in the pots, three for each pot, making sure they were properly embedded into the soil. Louis leaned on the table, elbows on the wood, feet parted, watching Harry. His chest rising soundly, almost rhythmically with the noise around them, the dripping of the water hitting the sink, birds chirping outside, flowers reaching to towards the sky, blooming for the day.

 

As promised, Anne came in later, startling Louis back into a standing position. She carried a tray of bananas, strawberries, and kiwis. She set it on the table, smiling proudly to as Harry tried to finish up with the last cuttings.

 

"Alright, boys! Time for a break!" she said, looking at Louis. "There's a sink in the corner over there, Louis." She pointed where he knew the sink was situated and she continued, "If you want to wash up. Harry, you can wash in the house while you grab a bit of fresh lavender for your sister's bath. I swear she's about to give birth on my kitchen floor, any day now," Anne said, grabbing some already cut lavender, bunched together with long stems and handing them to Harry, who kissed her cheek, opened the red door, running into the house.

 

Louis quickly moved to wash up, staring at the bush of daisies, smiling to himself. He wiped his hands on his jeans, turning to find Anne sitting, on a stool. Louis had no idea where she got it from since he's been leaning against the table the whole time. Anne hummed away as she ate a piece of strawberry. Louis shrugged, leaning on the table once more, careful not to knock over any of the rose cuttings, plucking a piece of banana from a bright orange bowl.

 

"You like daisies, then," she stated, smiling happily. Louis blinked.

 

"The shoes give it away?" he asked, looking down at his dirtied shoes. It was hard to even differentiate the white daisies at this point.

 

"No, Harry did, came home and planted that pot." She pointed to the pot by the sink. "I didn't really question it, until now," she said, giggling between her words, teeth showing. Louis ducked his head, neck itching, biting into a strawberry to stop the smile from forming on his lips.

 

"I had no idea you owned that shop downtown, I know someone who's obsessed with it," Louis said smoothly, changing the subject. There was a glint in Anne's green eyes, lips pursed but she let it go.

 

"Oh, you flatter me. I'm surprised Harry informed you, he doesn't really open up," she said, voice taking on a sad tone near the end. "With the exception of Liam, he doesn't have many friends."

 

"I'm glad I can be added to the list with grumpy Liam."

 

Anne laughed. "I do agree Liam can come off a bit brusque, but he means well. He always has an eye out for Harry."

 

"How did they meet?" Louis asked, surprising himself with how genuinely curious he was.

 

"Oh, those two became quick friends, Harry was homeschooled most of his life, but when the Paynes moved in next door. I found out Liam was also being homeschooled and was around the same age as Harry. So, I experimented a bit and stuck em' in a room together to see what would happen. I nearly had a stroke when I heard Harry laughing so hard he was wheezing, and Liam sat beside him, worried he had caused Harry to have a hernia. Best friends after that. The first person, outside of me and Gemma, his sister, that he was comfortable speaking to."

 

"He hasn't spoken to me," Louis said solemnly, feeling his gut twist up as he set his piece of strawberry down.

 

"Well, if I'm being quite honest, Harry hardly speaks to me or Gemma, even Liam. Won't even get a few words out on bad days, but he's getting there," she said, reaching for Louis' hand and patting it with her own. She sighed, looking over the rose cuttings on the table.

 

"You just have to be patient, love. Harry was pretty shy when he was younger. He didn't have a good time in school and already had trouble speaking in public before then, but it got worse with school. We knew he wasn't too talkative in class, his teacher would tell me so, but at least when he got home, he would talk to us, pretty joyfully too, loved to tell these cheesy jokes before dinner, but even that started to slow down. I eventually decided to homeschool him and when he met Liam it seemed to help for a bit. He still has a lot of trouble speaking in public though."

 

"This last year alone was a rollercoaster, especially after Liam got a job at his father's pub and started uni. Harry was absolutely gutted, he moped around back here until the sun went down, it got more concerning when he started to teach himself sign language. Couldn't blame him, really, he went from seeing his best friend every day to hardly once a week, poor Liam tried his best, but he's a busy boy. It was my idea that he visits Liam during his shifts, Liam's father was fine with it as well. At first, Harry wouldn't go unless Gemma was with him, but he got better, there were good days and bad ones, but now he spends most of his time there. It's a slow process, you just got to be a little patient."

 

"And anyway, you're already heading in the right direction. Liam told me he lets you read his journal. He doesn't let any of us do that, never even lets us near that thing," she said, squeezing his hand once more.

 

Louis' cheeks were tinted red."Yeah, I reckon he does."

 

Harry burst in, panting slightly, cheeks flushed. He gave the two a suspicious look as he came closer, reaching for a slice of kiwi, Anne smiled to Louis before turning to Harry.

 

"Thank you, dear," she said squeezing Harry's cheeks together as he chewed. Harry pulled away, making a disgruntled face "I'd better go open the shop, it was lovely to meet you, Louis, don't be a stranger"

 

***

 

And he wasn't.

 

The rest of the week went by similarly; Louis would set an alarm in the morning and walk over to Harry's. Harry seemed surprised every time he showed up. Anne would make some silly comment about having to pay Louis for his services, even though he did nothing but gawk at Harry while he worked.

 

Harry and Louis began texting each other at all times of the day, Harry sending him odd jokes, that always made Louis roll his eyes and chuckle. And Louis just reacting to whatever his curly-headed friend said, still struck with a sense of alacrity every time his phone vibrated in his pocket. They discussed lyrics for Harry's songs, Louis loving anything Harry suggested, going home and experimenting with a few chords he thought would suit them. At this rate he thinks they could write a whole album, ideas running wild, constant and fresh, reminding him of when he first moved to London.

 

Louis did eventually meet Gemma, Harry's older sister. It was after a long morning of grafting a few tomatoes, well, Harry grating tomatoes. Louis was still confused about the convoluted process even after Anne had explained it to him. Gemma came in in a long summer dress, the tips of her hair dyed blonde, yelling Harry's name when she noticed Louis sitting idly on one of the stools at the wooden table.

 

Though he could tell she was annoyed with something Harry did, she seemed to compose herself quite nicely, like her mother, politely introducing herself before pulling Harry away making Anne laugh and mumble a humorous, "Don't ask."

 

They would walk back to the pub for their usual lunch, though as the weather became nicer the pub became more and more crowded during the afternoon, most people craving the cold lemonade and air-conditioned restaurant. Harry's discomfort was evident with each passing day.

 

Louis had once attempted to bring Harry to the café by Zayn's house. Harry followed him apprehensively, dawdling behind Louis, shoulders stiff before it was clear he wasn't comfortable going to an unfamiliar place.

 

"Haz, how about I walk you home and call it a day, yeah?" Louis had suggested, already switching directions.

 

Harry's eye had gone wide as saucers, shaking his head furiously, curls whipping around his face. Louis frowned, Harry stared at the café, seeming frightened, clearly still not wanting to go inside. He reached over for Louis' hand, the marker cap already in his mouth when he wrote on his palm.

 

_How about I go back home, and you come with me. I cook some wicked mac and cheese._

 

Louis watched Harry, who seemed to be almost pleading at this point, and nodded his head effortlessly.

 

"Well, curly, I'm a sucker for some good mac, lead the way!"

 

 ***

 

Louis checked his phone.

 

He and his friends were all crammed together in Zayn's living room on a Friday night. Louis was squished between a Niall snoring his right shoulder and Zayn on his left, the telly on a low hum.

 

El sat on the floor by Niall's feet in pajama bottoms and a baggy sweater, completely enthralled with the movie. Louis peeked around for a few minutes then slowly got up, without drawing too much attention to himself.

 

He mumbled something about getting another beer, sneaking out to the kitchen.

 

Once alone, Louis pulled out his phone from his pocket, settling down on the counter, telepathically telling it to vibrate; he sighed when it didn't.

 

He turned to the fridge and opened it, looking for another beer, frowning when he wasn't able to find one, which was ridiculous since he could have sworn he saw Zayn buy a new case just the other day.

 

As Louis was about to slam the fridge door, two things happened: first was his phone vibrated, loudly, cascading on the hard surface, and the second occurrence was El coming into the kitchen.

 

Louis quickly reached for his phone, leaving the fridge wide open.

 

"That him, then?" El flouted, an impish look on her face, body set in akimbo.

 

Louis turned again to assess the fridge, phone safely in his back pocket, scanning it once more, as if a beer would suddenly appear.

 

"We seriously out of beer?" Louis stepped back, grabbing the orange juice instead, gently shutting the fridge, then busying himself by looking for a glass. "Christ sake, El, think we oughta have some sort of intervention on our drinking habits, or at-least Niall does."

 

Louis turned once he found his habitual green cup in the sink, his phone in his back pocket vibrating once, capturing his attention and making him fill his cup to the brim. He tried to avoid El's eyes as he took a long gulp of orange juice, wincing from the taste, he was never a fan of orange juice.

 

Louis could practically hear El's smirk, as she reached over the counter and grabbed the disgraced liquid from his hand.

 

"Is it the bloke you've been seeing?'" El asked, sipping the orange juice lightly, she actually liked orange juice, just not with pulp. "One from the bar that writes a lot? Yeah?"

 

Louis said nothing as he placed the carton of orange juice back in the fridge, spotting a familiar cap behind the vegetables, of course: the one place Zayn knew Louis wouldn't look. He closed the fridge, not feeling the urge to drink anymore.

 

However, once Louis met El's buoyant expression, he reconsidered grabbing that last bottle of beer.

 

"M'not seeing him," Louis mumbled, bringing his arm around his torso, then stopped, choosing to rub the sides of his thighs instead when El noticed the familiar movements.

 

"But you'd like to," she said softly, voice gentle and hushed as if she were talking to a baby bird.

 

Louis shook his head in a petulant manner, dismissing her tone.

 

"No, I-it's really not like that, El." His voice was weak, pleading. Now, was not the time to divulge into subjects he, himself, wasn't even certain of.

 

"Then…what's it like?" El asked, voice still careful. Louis shook his head faster, looking down at the dirt in-between his nails. "You fancy him, right?"

 

Louis sucked in a breath too quickly, coughing as it flooded through his lungs, disrupting his regular breathing.

 

"Fancy him?" he scoffed, then let out another weak cough.

 

"Right," El said, unconvinced, eyes squinted together, a quick nod of the head.

 

"Drop it, El."

 

There was a stretched second, the air was tight, pulling him to each end of the room, rendering him unable to move.

 

"I know, I'm your ex and all…." She trailed off, "Lou?"

 

He didn't look up, eyes still glued to his hand. There was a smudge of Harry's handwriting on his wrist: he covered the words with his other hand. Louis finally looked at her, a forlorn expression on her face.

 

"Lou…. come on, it's me," she said lightly, but there was almost a sense of exasperation in her features. His phone vibrated once more, he wanted to throw it across the room.

 

"To be quite honest, Eleanor, you're the last person I want to talk to about this," he snapped, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but in the kitchen with his ex-girlfriend speaking to him like he was a toddler. El's brows furrowed as if to say don't you take that tone with me.

 

"Why, Louis? I've been nothing but kind since the breakup, and yet you still treat me like some sort of invader." She walked around the counter, slamming the empty cup in the sink.

 

He scoffed, crossing his hands over his chest.

 

"And you don't think I have a right to, considering how we left things off?" Louis made a move to walk back to the living room, already feeling a headache nearing, as his jaw locked.

 

"Hold on!" El's voice, shrieked. Louis faced her, stunned by her voice, a quick tremor running through his fingers.

 

"I forgive you, Louis! I. Forgive. You. For using me for years, remember that, yeah? For two years, I thought you were my boyfriend, but it turns out, I was your beard. I told my parents, we had a future together, planned our wedding in my journals, told all my friends you were 'the one' while you only wanted to parade me in front of your co-workers! But Lord forbid you forgive me for a few words I said in the heat of anger!" El's voice boomed through the kitchen, through the apartment, he was sure that Zayn heard it in the living room, he was sure Niall had woken from it.

 

Louis felt his face flush, neck itching, he glowered as he turned slowly.

 

"Well, I guess you're just the bigger person, then," Louis hissed, voice dripping with noxious venom.

 

"Don't!" she warned her cheeks viciously red, her face stern with irritation, and determination. He saw her like this only once before, and the memory still brought a numbness to his fingers.

 

"I saw the way you came home every night, after a long shift, no life left in your eyes, as if someone had beaten everything good in you, left you on the streets to rot. It broke my heart, Lou, I don't know what happened within those walls, but I tried with every bone in my body to take it all away, tried to fix it, make you into something I knew you weren't. Maybe that's why I didn't say anything once I had realized. I was so in love with you, Lou."

 

Her voice cracked towards the end, not because she was getting emotional, but because she yelled most of the words. They heard banging coming from below them, most likely the residents from the apartment down below telling them to keep it down.

 

Louis stared at her wide eyes. He felt the sharp stinging of tears, closing them to keep them at bay. He ignored the ringing in his ears and the babble of swarmed voices in his head.

 

"I'm sorry for how I reacted that night, it was uncalled for, especially knowing what I knew, I don't think there will ever be enough actions or words to sincerely tell you how sorry I am about that night," she continued, her voice was too quiet now, Louis leaned his head slightly in her direction, "but you've got to give me a chance, Lou, I think at-least I deserved that. And so, do Zayn and Niall, if I'm honest."

 

Louis cuts her off, voice shaky but restrained, as if all the anger had no way out, piled up all at his jaw and clenched fists.

 

"They were my friends first." At that moment, even Louis, himself, feared the person he was.  He waited for her to answer, watching her shake her head in disbelief, hands crossing over her chest.

 

"You know what, Louis, I've had it, you can have your friends back. I'm done," she sneered.

 

Louis defiantly marched back to the living room, unable to bare El's hurt eyes staring back at him. He ignored Zayn's worried eyes and the now fully awake Niall's, disapproving gaze, taking his place back on the couch.

 

El came in, mumbling something about an early shift, grabbing her stuff, but they all knew she had the day off the following day. No one said anything. She stopped at the door, turning to them.

 

"And for the record Louis, unlike those pricks from work, none us give a rats ass if you like boys," she said, slamming the door to Zayn's apartment.

 

Niall got up, and giving them both a disgruntled look before sighing, put his shoes on, and headed out the door, following El.

 

***

 

Louis awoke with anticipation, excited for his performance that night. He made breakfast for Zayn and himself, which wasn't off to a great start as smoke filled the kitchen. Zayn came down with a disgruntled face, warning Louis that if he set the apartment on fire, he would have his head.

 

"You flatter me, my dear friend." Louis smiled, placing a plate of slightly burnt pancakes in front of Zayn, who inspected it thoroughly before taking a small, cautious bite.

 

"Surprised you're such in a great mood, considerin' the shit show that went down last night," Zayn grumbled. Louis deflated, the corners of lips turned down. "Were a bit of a prick, mate."

 

"Takin' El's side, then," Louis mumbled, turning to Zayn. He was met with an unimpressed look, knowing the next words that would come out of his friend's mouth.

 

"Don't make me pick sides, Lou," Zayn said, tone flat. Louis sighed, plating his mostly burnt pancake, drowning it in jam and syrup, picking at it with his fork.

 

"Think she'll show up tonight?" Louis asked meekly.

 

"I don't know, mate," Zayn admitted and continued, "but if there are two things Niall is good at is drinking more than his body weight and convincing El to do something she doesn't want to."

 

"Good 'cause-" Louis paused looking at his plate and soaked pancake then continued, "there may be a bloke…"

 

Zayn smiled. "About damn time."

 

"I was serious about before though, we aren't dating or anything like that."

 

"But you want to."

 

"I don't know what I want, I just know that I-" Louis sucked in, then let out a loose breath, exasperated. "Sort of, kinda like him."

 

Zayn got up and patted Louis on the shoulder before pulling him into a quick half hug. "Hope we'll get to meet him soon, then."

 

"Might be a while. He's quite shy and has trouble speaking with erm- new people" Louis said. Zayn shrugged.

 

"The bloke could look like Deadpool and I wouldn't care, mate, as long as he's good to you and makes you happy," Zayn says casually, walking past Louis, going to his room to change. Louis tried to punch him in the arm, but was too slow, letting Zayn get away. Louis' phone vibrated by the stove, he hopped up quickly, reaching for it.

 

Louis smiled. It was a text message from Harry.

 

Look forward to seeing you tonight

 

_Funny, considering, I never see u :p Louis replied_

 

_Mayyyyyybe you will, there's a first time for everything :)_

 

 ***

 

The pub was a lot busier than usual.

 

 The entrance was almost completely blocked with customers trying to get tables. Louis couldn't even see the bar, swarms of bodies were surrounding it with the servers running around, multiple trays in hand. Understaffed, he assumed.

 

The pub was hot, bodies squished against one another, voices mingling, the music from the speakers, barely heard.

 

Zayn was by his side, one hand gripping Louis' arm through the crowd, and the other holding Louis' guitar case by the handle. They found a spot by the stage where it wasn't too crowded, bumping into drunken strangers. Louis tried to look at the spot by the exit, in hopes to spot a familiar head of curls, but gave up after a random tray almost knocked him in the face.

 

Louis thought more about Harry and immediately pulled out his phone, preparing a text to warn his friend about the crowded. He didn't think Harry would be comfortable in such an atmosphere. He was about to hit send, when Zayn shook his shoulders.

 

He looked to Zayn who was holding his own phone in Louis' face, smile on his face.

 

"Niall did it. He's on his way with El." Zayn grinned, typing a quick text back to Niall. Louis nodded to himself, deciding to make things right with El.

 

Liam appeared through the thick crowd, looking more distraught than usual. There was a thin layer of sweat above his thick eyebrows and his jaw set when someone almost knocked him over. His features softened slightly once he saw Louis, something the shorter lad never thought he would witness.

 

"Louis, hey," Liam said, as he looked over Louis' head, giving a quick nod to Zayn who was behind him. "Do you mind startin' a bit early, my dad thinks that it'll help settle everyone down a bit."

 

It took Louis a second to remember that Liam's father owned the pub, but Louis nodded a bit, adjusting his fringe, out of a nervous habit. He quickly stopped, feeling the daisy pin at the side of his head.

 

"No problem, mate, give me a minute to set up, yeah?" Louis said. Liam gave him a grateful smile before hurrying back to his post at the bar.

 

Louis took off his denim jacket, too hot against his skin, and began to wrap his arms around his torso, but Zayn grabbed his hand to stop him.

 

"Hey, Lou, none of that, you'll be fine." Zayn squeezed his hand and handed him his guitar already out if its case. Louis grabbed it from Zayn, cradling it in his arms, setting the strap over his head. He nodded vigorously, more to himself than Zayn.

 

Louis climbed on stage, the lights already on, blinding him as he adjusted the mic causing it to shriek throughout the whole pub. That seemed to settle everyone to a low hush. Louis figured he would have to stand for this performance considering most-if not all-the stools were taken. He tested his strings once, looking down to his shoes before giving his attention the audience.

 

"Hey, loves! To our regulars, nice to see you again." There was a small cheer and a few claps. Louis smiled giving them a small wave and continued, "and for those of you who are new, my name is Louis. I'm the live act, here, at Leather Bottle pub, every Saturday night." There was a nice cheer, clapping filling the room. Before it settled, he leaned towards the mic to introduce his first song, when he heard it.

 

It was from someone, in the front, too close for Louis to spot with the lights in his face. It was a simple shout, heard by everyone, piercing through the quiet like a knife through his flesh, loud and intrusive, and far too familiar to his ears.

 

"FAGGOT!"

 

There was a pause. Louis stood still, unable to move. He felt a thousand needles crawl up his body, tortuously slow, leaving a paralyzing sensation.

 

There was a quick movement, then a concerning crack, before all hell broke loose. Screams and shouts, filled the whole pub, too much movement happening for the small room.

 

Louis' lips trembled, unaware of the commotions below him, his mind racing.

 

Louis really thought he had moved past it all.

 

He fooled himself into thinking that his petals were showing, peaking with color, ready to be plucked off, showcased in a beautiful translucent vase ignoring the fact that most flowers didn't grow in hostile environments, most withered and died.

 

But now reality struck him, standing alone on stage, dead roots clogging his throat, face tilted down, looking at the yellow of his shoes, cheeks red and blotchy, his fists curled so tight, needing the pain, trying to focus on smudges of people surrounding him, squeezing until he knew there would be blood in his finger-nails, lips bitten until he tasted iron.

 

There was no more air for him to breathe in.

 

His breathing was labored, and there were fuzzy spots behind his eyes. He forced a cough, trying to cough up the rotten moss from his insides, but having no luck. There was too much clutter, the weight of his guitar making it harder for his lungs to work.

 

He had been ripped out of the soil, roots cut off, only to be left on the hot pavement. And nobody took pity, trampling him as they rushed by.

 

He felt someone pulling him off the stage, warm arms around his body, gentle words hitting his ears. Louis forced his legs to work, fearing that if his knees gave up now, he would never get up from the floor.

 

And maybe he'd been giving this city far too many chances when it hadn't even given him one.

 

 ***

 

There wasn't much to say.

 

Louis moved to the big city right after high school, left his family and friends for new ones.

London was the place to be if you wanted to sing, and Louis knew, kismet be damned, he was going to make it.

 

What happened instead wasn't necessarily a tragedy of any sort, just a simple tale of a star who wanted to be the moon.

 

After a perpetual trail of disappointments and failed opportunities, Louis had met Zayn, a comic book store manager, and they moved into an obscure neighborhood, unsafe for such young lads. However, even that had become too much with neither Louis nor Zayn not making nearly enough.

 

So, Louis had applied for an internship.

 

And he did well, is what it is.

 

He got promoted 2 months after he was hired, which was unheard of for his age. He had embraced the responsibility. There wasn't much to it, giving people financial advice through the phones, talks of mortgages, loans, lines of credits, simply calculating numbers. He started making enough money for Zayn and himself to afford groceries every week. He even bought himself a new guitar, for the dream may have been postponed, but it was far from dead.

 

This was also when he had begun to listen to the whispers of the grape vines.

 

The comments weren't necessarily bad, per say, the scoffs during meetings, the judgmental looks at his attire, the mocking imitations. At first, he had tried to ignore it but as the months went by, the less Louis raised his hand during meetings, the less he wore bright colors, the less he let himself be comfortable.

 

It was when the whole office had been invited over to their boss' house for a Christmas party, that he really understood how much of the toxic substance had affected his ecosystem.

 

His coworkers had asked if he was bringing his boyfriend to the party, smirks high on their faces, something too vile in their eyes. And Louis had said

 

"M'girlfriend, actually." The worst part wasn't how they laughed at him, loud in disbelief, but how something inside of him had become shriveled and dry.

 

That night, he met El at the pub, didn't say "no," when she asked him up to her apartment, didn't say "no," when she asked to be his girlfriend two weeks later,  either.

 

He had stopped returning his mother's concerned phone calls, stopped going home for visits, stopped calling his sisters with joyful tones; he no longer had it in him to fake it and moved into his own studio when Zayn asked too many questions he hadn't been able to answer.

 

The night Louis met El's parents was the night he had thrown up in her family's powder room, unable to handle every reassuring touch El tried to give or the glint of expectation in hers and her parent's eyes.

 

And somewhere, outside away from his engorged heart and constricting chest, a forest fire had begun. He had smelt the burning wood, heard the crackle and snaps of the branches breaking, had seen the fire's whips and curls.

 

The vibrant sun had made this forest grow.

 

And as heat beamed down, lighting a few parched twigs on fire, that same vibrant sun had also destroyed.

 

Louis had simply sat down and watched the flames form.

 

 ***

 

Louis couldn't stop trembling.

 

He and Zayn sat at the bar, tucked away in a little corner. Liam was there, offering him drinks and food all of which he would decline. Louis wrapped his arms around his torso, trying to cease the quakes of his body.

 

Niall walked up with El at his side, an ice pack at her knuckles.

 

It turns out, Niall and El had appeared right before Louis got on stage, stuck at the door by the overflowing bodies. El had been standing close to the perpetrator when it happened and-without much thought- punched him square in the jaw, causing a commotion among his friends. Luckily, Niall had been beside her, making sure none of his friends got in her face as she sneered at the prick and spit in his face. Liam's father had broken up the debacle, banning the blokes and his friends from the pub, and escorting them out, which garnered a huge cheer from the whole room.

 

Niall said nothing, pulling a chair next to him right away. El came up behind his chair and began rubbing his shoulders. Louis tried his best not to cry as he turned on his stool, wrapping his arms around El's waist, tucking his face into her shoulder, unable to find the words he wanted to use.

 

Louis looked at the stage, squeezing El tighter as the memories flashed before him. He didn't think his lungs were working right, not realizing he was making these small gasping noises until he felt El pat his back to calm him.

 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, he pulled away from El, taking a look at the pending message.

 

_Hey, I'm running a little late, be there soon :)_

 

He excused himself to the bathroom, ignoring his friend's concerned eyes. Louis stared down at his daisy shoes, gripping his bangs, feeling a few strands of hair rip out as pulled out the matching bobby pin and threw it on the floor.

 

***

 

Louis was in Zayn's guestroom.

 

There was light slightly peeking through the cracks of the door, and he could hear his friends speaking in hushed voices in Zayn's living room.

 

They sounded like he was underwater, and they were too far away for Louis to reach.

 

They all had walked to Zayn's apartment, silence bouncing off one another.

 

Zayn had brought Louis into his guest room, and Louis didn't have the voice to protest as he let Zayn undo his shoes and tuck him into bed.

 

Louis slept for a few hours before he had woken up, cold and bothered, seeing his dirty yellow shoes by the door. He had furiously gotten up, ignoring the sense of dizziness and nausea that overcame him, and aggressively thrown them into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

 

Louis tucked himself into a ball, a thin sheet draped over his body, window slightly opened, allowing the night breeze to resuscitate him.

 

He reached for his phone somewhere in the bundles of sheets, turning it on, the white light illuminating his face. A few texts appeared on his phone from the familiar number. Louis' heart dropped.

 

_Hey, I'm here :)_

_Are you running late???_

_Liam told me that something happened and that I should text you._

_It's quite crowded today, Think I might head back home, sorry couldn't see you..._

_Come over tomorrow and I'll get my mom to make her famous fruitcake! I swear you'll like it!_

_My mom found a knitted blanket covered with daisies for Gemma and the baby and I was tempted to buy one for you._

_If you need someone to listen, I'm always here…_

 Louis took a quick breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. His fingers moved slowly, typing out each word with agony.

 

_I'm sorry, Harry if I gave you the wrong impression. I think it's best if we no longer see each other._

 

_Louis is that really you…?_

 

_I would like for things to go back to how they were when we didn't know each other. Goodbye._

 

The night sky was moonless, much to Louis' grief, though he was slightly relieved. He didn't think it would be fair for the Moon to see him in such a state.

 

Louis would tell the Moon about the cruel words he wrote to the boy who belonged to the Sun. And the moon would float to the Sun, prove her conjecture about him, for she never really liked Louis anyways.

 

His fingers still shook, and he gripped his sheets to cease the shaking, his feet tucked together, bare and cold. His eyes closed shut and green with slightly dipped blue stared back at him.

 

Louis wanted to call his mom for the first time in years, go see his sisters too, he wanted to feel that feeling of comfort again in his bones, he wanted to leave the big city.

 

His eyes languidly opened to the moonless sky, waiting for the punishment the Sun had in store.

 

 

***

 

 "Your voice sounds different," his mother said, and the line went quiet. He sat alone in the kitchen, his friends all off to work.

 

The kettle cried, next to him. He turned it off, hoping it masked the sob that came out of his mouth.

 

The clock above the stove said it was 9 AM.

 

"A concerning amount," his mother continued. Louis grabbed a mug, making his tea exactly how he liked it, chamomile with too much honey.

 

He didn't say anything. He simply waited, taking an immediate sip of his tea, knowing it probably needed a few seconds to cool down. He hoped the tea would burn his tongue, swelling his tongue in his mouth, making his words incoherent.

 

"I quit my job," he said after a beat. His mother sighed, out of relief, he was sure. She waited to let him finish, knowing there was more to the story.

 

"About four months ago. And six months ago," he paused, sipping his tea once more, "I broke up with my girlfriend of two years." Louis gripped his cup.

 

"Louis, hon, you told me you wer-"

 

"I am, I definitely am," he said. He could picture his mother scolding him, eyebrows pushed together, lips pursed. They both understood what he did was wrong, Louis could hear her tapping her nails on something, a habit of hers when she was displeased with him or his sisters.

 

"When I got to London, it wasn't like I had expected. I thought-I didn't know what I thought, but I guess the world is just cruel wherever you go," he said, voice too thin for the room. He heard his mother's Oh Lou through the faint phone.

 

He told his mother about his job and co-workers, how they were much crueler than the kids at school-something he thinks she already suspected-the events that took place the night before and how he felt trapped in his own home. Tears kissed his cheeks, as the memories danced in his head.

 

"I'm afraid there's no escaping people like that, darling," his mother soothes, "they're all over the world, fewer in some places, but still there."

 

"Yeah, I think I get that now. There's no such thing as a safe haven when you're gay," Louis said solemnly, and his mother tsked on the other line.

 

"There's no such place, for anyone, Lou. It's a fruitless pursuit. As long as we each have our own will and representation, there will always be pain. But that doesn't mean you suffer in melancholy for the rest of your life. Enjoy all those things life offers you, embrace every ounce, knowing that despite everything, you got to experience it."

 

"Thanks for the philosophical lesson, mum," Louis said, patting his cheeks with the back of his hand. He heard his mother shush him.

 

"Now tell me of all the good, you've had since you've stopped speaking to me in the last two years."

 

"Sorry about that mum, it was hard for m-"

 

"I know, I know, but just a quick call or text, soothes a poor mother's worries. The girls haven't been as informative as I want them to be."

 

Louis told her about El turning out to be one of the best things in London, followed up by Zayn and Niall and the little nest they've created for themselves. He talked about his performances at the pub every Saturday night, how it brought him so much joy until the other night.  Louis told her about Harry, the boy who didn't speak a word to him, but had said so much, making him feel like the first daisy in bloom in a spring field.

 

"But, I've fucked it up, mum."

 

"You'll fix it," she said, confidently, no doubt in her mind. "And Louis Tomlinson, what did I tell you about that potty mouth of yours?" Louis rolled his eyes, a smile reaching his eyes for the first time in hours.

 

***

 

 Louis sprinted out of the guest room, hearing his friends rush through Zayn's home, feeling a smile creep on his face when he opened the door to El yelling at Niall from the kitchen, he and Zayn immediately slouching on the couch, lighting a quick blunt, games controllers in their hands, paying no mind to her at all.

 

"You lads are gonna make her pop a blood vessel," he chirped.

 

Zayn, from the couch, had a private smile on his face, passing over his blunt, a show that he was glad to have Louis in a chirpier mood. Louis shook his head, patting Niall on the head, nudging him towards the kitchen.

 

"Save me a seat, I'm just going to say hi to El, really quick." Louis made his way to the kitchen to find El's back turned, mumbling angrily as she did the dishes.

 

Louis quickly hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms around her stomach, letting his chin fall on her shoulder.

 

"Well, guess who decided to help with the dishes." He could hear her smile. She didn't turn around to greet him, however. Continuing on with the dishes at a slower pace. Through the soapy bubbles and warm water, Louis could see light bruises seeping through her skin on her left knuckles.

 

"I know this is overdue, but thank you, even though it probably isn't the best idea to punch the biggest bloke in a pub," he said, squeezing her tighter as she chuckled.

 

"Prick deserved it," El said hotly, patting his hand with hers.

 

 "And I'm sorry about how I treated you last week, or actually, how I've treated you since we've met, I've been a real prat," Louis confessed. He pulled away, shoving her out of the way to continue the dishes.

 

El shrugged, removing herself from his arms, face evading of all emotions, turning to lean her bum on the counter.

 

"It's really nobody's fault but my own on how things ended between us. I knew you were using me and I let you, but I'm glad that after all that I stuck around, because you and Niall and even bloody Zayn are my closest friends, and we're all here for you Lou," she said, her voice strained, looking out towards the living room.

 

"I know, I'm just living my life as a protagonist from a coming of age novel, making my life harder than it needs to be," he said, smirking, splashing her with water as he finished up the dishes, turning off the tap.

 

"On second thought, I could do without you all," she said, grabbing a rag to whip at his face "Return to sender."

 

He grabbed another rag, on the counter and tossed it on her, She gave him a disgruntled look as it landed on her already frazzled hair.

 

 

***

 

There were a few boxes lying around Zayn's apartment, boxes that Louis had yet to unpack. He had finally agreed to move in with his former roommate, settling in the guest room instead of the dated couch. However, after an exhausting week of packing up his studio, Louis had little energy to do much of anything else.

 

"Might wanna unpack these, Lou," Zayn told him, early one morning, rushing out the door with a piece of toast in his mouth.

 

Louis was uncertain if it was motivated by Zayn's warning, because he knew his friend well and feared the other lad would regret his decision the longer those boxes stayed shut, eventually having to move back to his studio apartment, or if it was because Louis had heard Zayn's tripping over said boxes that same morning.

 

Louis sat on the floor of his new room, boxes in reach, he slowly pulled the tape off it, hardly registering the contents inside, his mind returning to familiar places of sickening memories he tried to force out of his recollect. Except, weeks had gone by, and even with Louis' best efforts, he still dreamed of his younger self and a little boy with messy curls, under an oak tree, holding gathered daisies in his hand and Louis's stained with black ink.

 

Louis had gone over scenarios in his head, seeing Harry once more, telling him the words that pierced through his heart. But Louis lost that right, he lost it after he made a conscious choice to send those texts messages, sealed it when he hadn't returned to the pub all week and deleted Harry's number, making sure there was no circumstance he would run into Harry.

 

Most of his time was spent in the apartment, drinking honey sweetened tea, eyes gazing at the moon, the silver light casting a spotlight of shame. It's been raining for the whole week; the Sun could hardly look at him.

 

Louis opened the boxes to find one of his old journals, one he used when he moved to the big city, he opened a few pages and quickly shut it, not ready to deal with The Eager Louis of two years ago, the past self who thought London was the answer to everything. He chucked the journal on his bed as an idea struck him.

 

Louis rushed around the room searching for his wallet, grabbing his jacket once he found it. His daisy shoes had been set out by the front door; he didn't remember placing them there. Nevertheless, he smiled as he slipped them on his feet, taking comfort in the set mold. He ran out the door, locking it shut, catching the bus right as it was about to leave it's stop. Once settled, he googled the directions to the closest arts and crafts store.

 

Once there, he grabbed a basket, finding the aisle he needed, and stocked his basket with colorful gel pens and multi-colored paper. He went to the sticker aisle and got as many flower stickers he could find, cheering a little when he found a set of daisy stickers, all different sizes, on sale.

 

As the employee rung him up, she raised a brow, a smile set on her lips.

 

"Shopping for your sisters? Girlfriend?" she asked, prompting the machine for his card, Louis began to nod, the feeling of shame swallowing him whole. He watched the employee put the last set of stickers into a bag.

 

"No, actually, just going to write a letter to a bloke I fancy," Louis said. The words came out as casual as ever as if his insides were bursting to boast. Louis bit his lip, looking down, waiting for the ridicule and the mocking laughs.

 

The employee did, in fact, laugh, however, when Louis lifted his head, the girl looked delighted.

 

"That's the sweetest thing, I've heard today, I'm a big fan of romantic gestures," she giddily said, a smile growing wider after each word. "Best of luck!"

 

Louis smiled back, feeling his cheeks hurt, and suddenly the big boulder, dense and heavy, on his ribs, lifted and Louis had forgotten how easy it was to breathe.

 

***

 

Louis sat in his vacant room, moving a few boxes aside, making space for his supplies. He made himself comfortable on the hardwood floor and began to write to Harry.

 

He wrote about the first night they met, how nervous he was during his first performance. He wrote about how he didn't sleep that night when he read Harry's words for the first time.

 

He wrote about his childhood, about the shop, Marylyn, his love for daisies, and the day Harry gave him those bobby pins, he knew he would do whatever it took to get Harry in his life.

 

Louis gushed about being certain that he and Harry were soulmates when Harry brought him to the greenhouse for the first time, watching him work and realizing that someone loved plants as much as he did.

 

He wrote to Harry about the day he read his notebook for the first time, without his permission, and that he shouldn't have done it, but he's glad he did because it made him realize that the world should know about Harry' gift.

 

Louis wrote about his dream to make music and how big it was when he moved to the city. And his job and the pit that formed where his heart should be, causing him to push away people who were nothing but kind to him, including Harry.

 

He wrote about Niall, and Zayn, and El, and how he really doesn't deserve any of them.

 

Louis divulged to him that Harry was the first boy Louis let himself fancy. And how he probably doesn't really deserve Harry either. Louis heedlessly wrote about the Sun lighting a path through every accomplishment Harry managed to achieve, overcoming so much, how he was far too good for this city.

 

The letter was multiple pages long, stickers placed appropriately, handwritten in five different colors.

 

The clock in the kitchen blared, signaling that it was two in the morning.

 

Louis read and re-read the words until he folded them neatly and place them in his denim pocket about to take his usual spot on the couch when he thought better and returned to his room.

 

 

***

 

 

It took Louis two days.

 

Two days after he wrote the letter before he summoned up enough courage to actually give it to Harry.

 

The first day, he had moped around the apartment, everything shaming him as he procrastinated, feeling sorry for himself.

 

The second day, El and Niall had come over.

 

Louis had a hunch that Zayn had something to do with their sudden appearance as they squished themselves into the small apartment, insisting that they watch all of Louis' favorite films. Niall made his famous everything brownies with just enough weed in them to make Louis slightly high for the rest of the day, forgetting the paper burning a hole in his denim jacket.

 

The weather was sunny, a few clouds in the sky, when the guilt finally urged Louis to go.

 

Louis was outside by noon, rehashing words he was going to say. He walked cautiously into the pub, relieved that Liam was not working today. Louis sat down at the bar and waited for the curly-haired boy to appear.

 

Louis tried his best to suppress the memories of the last time he stepped foot into the pub. However, the longer he stayed the more anxious he felt, clutching his fingers together so his arms wouldn't wrap around his torso, turning away from the stage completely, hardly looking at the bartender when they took his order.

 

It became clear, after a few hours that Harry wasn't going to show up. The sun was across the sky, and Louis was about to make his way back to his and Zayn's flat when a daunting suggestion was planted in his head. He tipped the bartender and made his way to the only place he knew Harry would be.

 

The walk to the greenhouse was familiar and oddly intimidating; the memories of walking alongside Harry on days just like this, hands brushing too close, the air around them blooming.

 

Once Louis made it to the greenhouse, he stood on his tiptoes to peek inside, but it seemed empty. However, Louis decided against his better judgment and unlocked the front gate, sneaking into the yard. The front door of the greenhouse was left slightly open.

Louis took a tentative step into the humid, plant infested, glasshouse, the sun casting a beautiful glow on the green leaves. Above his head, Louis noticed the strawberries had finally ripened, red and full, white flowers at the sides, Louis felt at home.

 

Louis didn't notice the figure crouched down on the ground tending to a bucket of freshly picked strawberries. He jumped slightly, spotting the familiar back, soaked in patches of sweat, covered in a black t-shirt.

 

Harry's big hands worked through each fruit, checking them thoroughly, buckets of strawberries laid next to him. A white wire dangled down his neck, an earbud at the end, the other in his ear, Louis could hear the music where he stood.

 

Louis slowly approached Harry, cleared his throat after a moment. Harry jumped up, hand on his chest, chipped yellow nail polish on nails, his eyes wide, mouth parted.  And then he stilled, eyelids nearly closing, lips slowly falling into a slight frown, a sigh escaping. It was a look he remembered his mother would give every time he mentioned his father, indignant and unassailable. Louis had never felt so close to vomiting than at this exact moment.

 

"Hi," Louis squeaked, but Harry simply stared, completely unimpressed. Louis' fingers twitched, and he decided to shove them into his pocket, pulling out the neatly colored pages, fingers shaking as he held them with both hands. Louis knew Harry was looking at them; it had become a habit of his. "I just wanted to apologize and-"

 

Harry turned to his side, disregarding Louis completely, picking up a bucket of strawberries. He looked at Louis once more, glare set on his face before he moved to walk past him as if Louis didn't exist in his universe, as if he wasn't worthy.

 

Acting on impulse, Louis reached out for Harry's arm as it brushed against his. Harry whipped his head around, a tumultuous sound coming out his mouth as he dropped the bucket of strawberries all over the ground, some splatting and leaking like an open wound.

 

Louis startled, removing his hand from Harry's arm, watching the curly-haired boy take a step back, eyes still glued to his, blotchy, red spots crawling up his face. Louis had never seen Harry like that nor did he ever think he would have ever rendered the sweet boy to such a state.

 

Louis took a few steps back, feeling the squish of a few berries under his feet. He looked down at his shoes, his left foot covered in strawberry guts. His fingers were no longer shaking, but Louis, oddly enough, didn't find any comfort with the realization.

 

Louis held his letter tight with both hands, gently bowing his head and extending his arms, offering the letter to Harry.

 

He waited patiently for what felt like hours, head stubbornly looking to the clusters of squished berries on the floor, watching small beetles and ants crawl around them, teeth sunken deep into his lips, licking over the cracks.

 

Louis couldn't find it in him to say what was within the letter or convince Harry that he should even read it, but when a minute passed and the letter was still set in his hands, Louis made his mouth work, letting the words soak into the humidity as fragile as the glass walls that surrounded them.

 

"Please, Harry."

 

Louis could feel the familiar stinging, of his parched eyes, filling with tears. He closed them slowly, begging them not to fall, at least, not now.

 

Finally, Louis felt the letter is taken from his hands, sluggishly and delicately, an act he knew was simply to appease him.

 

Louis finally let himself stand straight, looking at Harry. There was a wrenching feeling in Louis' gut when the red blotches in Harry' cheeks worsened, tears falling tentatively. Harry looked at him for a few seconds before turned away, staring at a spot on the ground with determination.

 

Louis nodded his head, understanding he was overstaying his welcome. He had wanted to at-least stay to clean up the strawberries, but he knew what Harry needed from him at that moment was for him to leave.

 

So, Louis turned around and went out the same way as he came in, the Sun almost fully set now.

 

And Louis did his best not cry until he was sure the Sun had ended her shift. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

 

 ***

 

It was a turning point.

 

Louis later realized-after his encounter with Harry-a lot had changed all at once. Louis had gone home that night, crying until his sobs could be heard through his door, Zayn peeking into his bedroom with a tub of ice cream, offering to marathon One Tree Hill, which Louis knew was only for his benefit since Zayn hated any TV show that wasn't some form of animation.

 

They cuddled on the couch, letting Chad Michael Murray and chocolate ice cream cheer up his mood.

 

Louis woke up the next morning feeling slightly more refreshed, but still, ultimately, shitty.

 

The rest of the week went in a similar route until Niall, barged into his room, and demanded he gets ready for a job interview.

 

Louis had been confused, thinking his friend had smoked too much weed on his way here, but Niall had insisted, not giving much explanation, rushing him out of the house. All he mentioned was that it was a serving job and that he didn't need to prepare anything.  Louis really shouldn't have had been surprised when they pulled up at the Leather Bottle pub.

 

Louis had been cautious, not knowing what to expect, still having a few qualms about the pub itself, until the manager came down and practically hugged him, a warm and gentle giant, that wore glasses too small for his face. He complimented Louis on his singing and apologized for the incident that occurred a few weeks ago.

 

Louis quickly dismissed the apology, remembering that it was Liam's father who had banned the pricks. The interview had gone splendidly. Liam's father, Geoff, didn't even wait to call him and told him the job was his. He had also told Louis that he was welcome to return to the stage whenever he was ready.

 

The kicker of it all was that Liam had been put in charge of training him.

 

Louis had feared the worst, considering how terribly he had left things off with Harry, and Liam being the protective mama bear that he was; however, Liam had actually seemed committed to teaching Louis how to do his job correctly and was also quite friendly if you caught him on a good day. Louis was unsure if Liam had yet to hear about what had happened between him and Harry, or if he was just loyal to his job. Louis would come to work, expecting the worst, but was constantly surprised when Liam treated him the same.

 

Liam never mentioned Harry, simply discussing work-related things with him, getting clipped when Louis would forget how to ring a pint through the serving system after Liam told him for the tenth time, or giving Louis advice on how to deal with particularly terrible customers.

 

All and all, after a few weeks had gone by of working with the lad, Louis considered Liam a mate-a slightly disgruntled mate-but a mate nevertheless.

 

After Louis had started to get his own tables and tips started racking up, he invested in a bike to ride to work. Though the pub was usually a quick ten-minute walk, the weather had started to warm up and the sun was peeking out more often.

 

The bike had been a bright yellow, a vintage model that the store owner had insisted suited Louis. Louis didn't disagree. Like his daisy shoes, the bike became his trademark, his co-workers always telling him how adorable it was. Mary, an older bartender that opened most days, even got him a cute little bell as a gag gift, one he immediately attached to his handles.

 

Life had moved forwards, with the exception of the regularly empty seat at the corner of the bar.

 

Louis missed Harry terribly. More often than not, he would stare at his hands, thinking that maybe deep in the layers, there was still maybe a slight hint of permanent black marker tattooed on his skin.

 

Louis had known better than to ask Liam about Harry, but sometimes Louis would go wipe down Harry's usual seat, after a customer had sat in it, slower than usual, eyes clouded, and he would catch Liam's eyes on him. And Louis had wondered what Harry had told Liam about him for there was usually no vex or resentment behind his eyes, just a forlorn expression he remembered his mother gave him when he cried himself to sleep.

 

But, yes, life had moved on, it's only the memories that didn't.

 

 

***

 

There was a particularly detestable lunch shift, that consisted of families with bratty kids who would throw their Fish & Sticks on the floor-or on Louis when their parents weren't looking, and shitty tips from most customers. Louis cleared off tables, mumbling with distaste, stacking messy dishes together, when Liam approached him.

 

"You a split-shift today?" he asked.

 

"Yeah…?" Louis replied, making a disgruntled face when he got ketchup on his fingers.

 

"Me too, we oughta grab lunch here then. Eat at the bar, yeah?" Liam said, not really looking at Louis, but the stain of tartar sauce on his apron. Louis picked up the large stack of plates from his table, arms straining slightly before Liam grabbed half of the stack from Louis's hands.

 

Liam wasn't the type to invite him to do, well, anything. Usually, it would be Louis who forced Liam to hang out with him, and really, the only thing that swayed his decision would be the promise of Niall, all the Paynes had a weakness for the Irish lad.

 

"I mean, was plannin' to go home, take a kip to be quite honest with ya, mate," Louis said offhandedly, Liam's eyes widened slightly, which was quite a look on him. There wasn't a huge range of expressions with Liam's face.

 

"C'mon, mate, I'll pay for you" Liam insisted. Something was definitely off, but Louis would never say no to free food, even when they already got a discount.

 

"Alright, alright, let me finish up, yeah?" Louis said making his way to the dish pit, brows furrowed in confusion.

 

The two boys sat at the corner of the bar, where Harry used to sit, Louis hesitated slightly before taking a seat, neck itching, hoping Liam didn't notice.

 

Liam was oddly talkative, keeping the conversation going, asking him invasive questions about his home life and family. Louis didn't really mind, since he did, at that point, consider Liam his closest friend at work, plus Liam easily shared similar information about himself.

 

After a while, Louis let go of his suspicions and simply enjoyed his time with Liam, even getting Liam to laugh loudly, as if he, himself, was surprised how much he seemed to enjoy Louis's company.

 

Liam's phone buzzed an hour later, both cheeks hurting from smiling and laughing, plates vacant of food.

 

Liam grabbed it after a pause as if he had forgotten why he had a phone in the first place. As he read over his text, a small smile crawled up his face.

 

"Sorry, a friend of mine, he's stranded at the grocery store and needs a lift," Liam said gathering his wallet, standing from his stool.

 

"No problem, reckon I'll go home a get a quick kip before I start up again," Louis said, stretching his arms above his head, hearing a few pops as he did so.

 

"See you in a few, yeah?" Liam asked, holding his fist out in Louis' direction. Louis smiled and tapped his own fist against Liam's.

 

Louis wanted to ask if it was maybe Harry who had just texted him, but knew that would probably ruin the cheerful atmosphere. He watched Liam leave, grabbing both their plates, bringing them to the dish pit.

 

Louis made his way to the back of the pub where he locked his bike, the weather was mostly sunny despite the occasional clouds. As he made his way to the back, he paused, looking around, mouth slightly agape, because there locked by a pole, sun showcasing the yellow, was his bike, covered in small daisies.

 

Louis took small steps, as if he was approaching a scared animal, though he was the one shaking. As he got closer he realized each daisy had been taped with cleared tape at the stem. It must have taken hours.

 

And on his silver bell, was an envelope, with his name written in small letters right in the middle.

 

And suddenly it all made sense: Liam's behavior, his text.

 

With shaking hands, Louis grabbed the letter, letting his fingers trace his own name before he closed his eyes, trying to tell himself that breathing wasn't optional.

 

It took him a few tries before he could open the envelope, fingers shaking too hard.

 

_Dear Boy with the Daisy Shoes,_

_I've written millions of words in my journal and just about a thousand on your hand, yet I find it hard to use the only voice I have available, to write you this letter._

_First, I want to say, that I forgive you and, far more importantly, I hope you forgive yourself.  You came at a time when I feared the loneliness would eat me alive. Without Liam, I thought I would never have to courage to use my voice like I used to, Demons in my head that stop me. But you were kind, Louis Tomlinson so, so kind. When I heard you sing that first Saturday night, I knew somewhere a star exploded, and new ones formed again. It took me a while to recognize that demons swarmed around you too._

_It's scary knowing that I might not be able to speak to you. I lie awake thinking of those destructive thoughts, forcing a voice that didn't want to be heard, but you heard me. You were patient and waited as I scribbled words on your palms, never once seeming frustrated with my odd methods of communicating._

_I'm a firm believer in second chances, so please give yourself a second chance and understand that you are better than those demons, Louis, because kind boys like you form new stars to light the skies._

_Love, the Boy with No Voice._

 

There were tears running down Louis's cheeks, glistening in the light, unapologetic and bright. He let out a sob, right there at the back of the pub, as he scrunched up the letter in his hands, overwhelmed, forcing himself to slowly relax his fingers. He delicately folded the letter and placed it safely in his pocket.

 

Face full wet with tears, eyes puffy and red, he fell to his knees and unlocked his bike. He got up and grabbed the handlebars, careful not to disturb the daisies, and began to make his way around the pub, following a familiar path, feet dragging, keeping his face down, eyes watching the dirtied path.

 

Louis stopped once stood in front of Harry's yard, Harry's greenhouse. He placed his bike by the gate. The door was slightly opened, like the last time. However, the greenhouse was empty.

 

Louis walked into the humid air, spotting one bucket of strawberries. He looked up to find most of them had been picked. It oddly made him want to cry.

 

Louis crouched down, almost wanting to say something to the last bucket of fresh strawberries, maybe that he was sorry. He reached to pick up one when he heard a noise behind him, and he slowly lifted himself from the ground, not wanting to turn around.

 

He took a deep breath and turned, to find Harry looking at him with a small smile, before concern crossed his features. He took a step closer, hesitantly placing his hand on Louis' arm.

 

That's all it took for Louis to crack. He tucked his chin into his neck, face directed at the ground, letting out a terrible sob, ashamed to face Harry. Louis shook his head.

 

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't-I'm so sorry. I treated you like shit, Harry, and y-you wrote that wonderful letter, I just don't know-"

 

Harry crouched to meet Louis's down casted eyes. Louis shut his eyes, trying to turn away as if to escape Harry's gaze. Harry slowly brought his large fingers to Louis's chin to lift his face up.

 

The two boys stared at one another, vibrant emotions swimming between the two of them. Harry's eyes glanced down to Louis' lips, and before Louis could even process the action, Harry was placing his forehead down against Louis'. Louis tilted his head up, their breath mixing, warm puffs of air on his lips. And then, Harry kissed him.

 

It was a slow peck, dry and chaste. Harry pulled away first, and there was a pause before Louis pulled Harry in once more, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist, letting Harry hold his face and deepen the kiss, mouths opening, tasting one another, tongues grazing side by side; Louis gently bit Harry's bottom lip as he pulled away.

 

They held each other, eyes closed, breaths hot and sticky like the humid air that surrounded them in the middle of a glasshouse with white hydrangeas that understood them, roses who judged, and daisies that protected them. 

 

 

***

 

Obviously, there were things to discuss, potholes that needed to be filled, but they took it a day at a time.

 

After their first kiss, the two boys had sat in the greenhouse for a few hours, phones on their laps, Louis' hand covered in ink, a comforting familiarity. Harry kept opening his mouth and letting out an odd noise as if he wanted to speak, but still wasn't able to. Louis would simply reach over and peck him on the cheek.

 

"No rush, love," he'd whispered, remembering Anne's words.

 

Louis had called into work and told them he wouldn't be able to make it, and luckily for him, Liam had picked up and assured him it was no problem, before demanding Louis take his shift the following morning. Though Louis groaned, he had easily agreed.

 

Louis started performing at the pub regularly once more, his first night back, he performed a song he and Harry wrote, and then threw up in the bathroom afterwards, but other than that the night went without a hitch. Harry had stayed by his side the whole time, quiet and anxious, but stubbornly staying no matter how much Louis insisted he should go home.

 

Surprisingly, Harry and his friends got along quite well. Louis had explained Harry's condition and they all had been supportive, patiently waiting for Harry to type on his phone, or write on a clean napkin. Zayn had easily become Harry's favorite; the two had an uncanny ability to read the other's expression, it freaked Louis out sometimes.

 

Harry continued to improve, going to different places that were out of his comfort zone, interacting with more strangers, instead of cowering away. Louis was the first to notice when the curly-haired boy had experience enough for the day; not wanting to push him. Louis would lead them back to the greenhouse, let Harry write beautiful words in his notebook before he passed it over to Louis. And Louis would sing every word, eyes never leaving Harry's; as if a sunflower singing to the sun.

 

***

 

_Daisies can become serious weeds if not controlled._

 

Louis sat down on the stool, guitar safely at his chest, the stage lights on his face, words intruding his thoughts.

 

_As they thrive through very rough conditions and are resistant to many bugs and pesticides._

 

Louis looked down at his brand-new daisy covered shoes, a gift from Harry for their first anniversary. He adjusted his fringe feeling a familiar pin, before strumming a few strings on his guitar, looking up to the awaiting crowd.

 

"Hey, loves, my name is Louis Tomlinson, and I'm going to be performing a few songs written by my boyfriend who's sitting right over there." Louis pointed to a small table at the back where Harry and his friends sat. The crowd erupted, Niall whistling through the pub. "Anyways, this one is called Daisies"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
>  
> 
> Any feedback is highly appreciated.  
> please reblog the post for this fic [Here](http://theisolatedlily.tumblr.com/post/176354379296/amidst-the-daisies-by-isolated-really-mate)
> 
> Please look forward to any of my future projects. 
> 
> ox. L
> 
> ❀ TheIsolatedlily on Tumblr ❀


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